Life, Death and New Beginnings
by Neteret
Summary: Horatio Caine and his team have new cases to solve. Horatio meets an unusual woman. An unsual pairing takes place among the team members. Fun!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: All characters from CSI-Miami are property of CBS and Mr. Bruckheimer. I own nothing connected with CSI:Miami, I don't know anyone connected with the show, I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

Spoilers: References to previous episodes through fifth season.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy.

Four years ago:

Marky Samson leaned back against the cool, smooth bark of the magnolia tree. Yeah, he could keep watch, leaning like this just as well as he could standing, like he'd been told to. Man! He was tired! He was pretty sure he'd passed the test today, so staying up most of last night to study had been worth it. Now though, he was so wishing he could go to bed. Anyway, now, he'd get into his junior year of high school and that's where things would start cooking. That's where people would start paying attention to how good at basketball he was. Of all times for the Sarge to pick him for a watch detail! But, after all, he had asked if he could make some money. The Sarge had always said to not ask if you didn't think you could follow through. After all, he had agreed to abide by the rules of the troops, had taken an oath. Besides, he just had to get some dough to buy Momma a birthday present.

The thing is, Marky knew with all of his heart he shouldn't be doing this. Maybe he wouldn't have, even if it had meant a rise in rank; it was just that, there was no way he could study for school and keep up his basketball skills and work too. Besides, it wasn't like he needed all that much money all the time. Momma did a good job to keep him and her going. The only time he needed extra money was for special things like this. Oh sure, she'd appreciated his little homemade efforts in the past. Now, lately, he'd seen how much extra she'd had to spend on him. He'd really started to grow and then, there was the extra stuff she'd bought for basketball. He just had to show his appreciation with more than a silly, all glued up card.

So, he was glad when he got tagged for watch detail for tonight. He'd only get, like, ten percent of the haul, but that was more than he had now, that's for sure. And there wasn't all that much of a risk, just standing under the tree here, looking out for anything. He knew that if he saw a white, like, fancy car, or a car with a security emblem, or a cop car, all he had to do was yell real loud and go run up to the car, pretending like someone was chasing him and be real surprised that no one was there. That'd give the others time to get away. It all seemed easy enough for maybe fifty, sixty bucks at best, and to save his pals from jail at worst.

But he was so tired! Marky slid down to sit in the dirt at the base of the tree. Yeah, he could still see down the street just fine this way.

"Bernstein? I understand you wanted us to do a daytime sweep of the crime scene?"

The black police detective's voice, as deep as Lieutenant Horatio Caine's, didn't have the smooth overtones. "Caine. Yeah, I did. The graveyard CSI did what he could, but said you could have the rest."

"I understand they all had an unusually busy night." The six-foot redhead's attention was barely on his conversation while his blue eyes scanned the area under the tree. The body of the teen that had been killed by a single gunshot wound to the left temple had already been removed. He knew a complete set of evidence photos had been taken by Tim Speedle's graveyard shift counterpart. The guy was a good man with as keen an eye to catching detail as Tim's.

"You received a call from the homeowner here?" Horatio indicated the house a few yards from the tree. As he spoke, he thought he detected what might be some blood on the trunk of the tree and certainly on the grass on the opposite side from where the body had been found. Spatter, no doubt, from when the bullet exited the skull. Funny thing about bullets; they were smooth going in, leaving little more than a round hole, but when exiting the human body, they were messy. The bullet usually came out with blood plus more in a wide pattern.

Bernstein referred to his notes. "Yeah, 911 got a call at about eleven-thirty last night. The homeowner had just gone to bed when he heard what sounded like a shot from out here. He rushed outside, found the body, and called. It was a young man, maybe early teens, found lying on his side, knees drawn up."

"Like he'd been maybe sitting, leaning back against the tree before being shot?"

Bernstein considered before answering. "Could be. I'll leave that for you to decide." The MDPD detective was one of those men that reported what he saw and preserved what he found. He followed protocol to catch the bad guys. If no bad guys were obvious to him, he stood back for those, like CSI's, who could analyze the evidence that would lead him to the same.

Looking down at his hands, one toying with the forefinger of the other, Horatio asked the obvious, "Do you think it could have been a gang killing?"

"Here? In Coral Gables? Possible but not likely. Kid's the right age for it, though."

"H!"

Horatio turned at the hail and saw another member of his team, Eric Delko, coming from across the street. "Yes Eric?"

"Good thing you suggested a wide range sweep. Tim and I found what looks like some activity under a window over there. He's taking photos now." The muscular young man of Russian and Cuban heritage indicated the house directly across the street from where the body had been found.

Judging the distance from the tree to the house across the street, and then looking up and down the street in between, the lieutenant asked, "What kind of activity?"

"Footprints in the flowerbed, two sets, and what looks to be the mark made by maybe a bag or something that was set down. Possibly tool marks on the window frame."

Horatio looked down at nothing in particular and smiled slightly. "And no fingerprints."

The dark haired young man looked rueful. "Not that we found so far. I just wanted to let you know. I'm going back and widen the sweep. Might find something else yet."

"Keep me informed," As the criminalist dismissed one member of his team, he greeted the next who was just climbing down from the large silver Hummer she'd parked behind the one he'd driven in. "Calleigh! You finish that other scene?"

Using a smile that was bigger than her stature, the blond flashed her blue-green eyes and returned her supervisor's greeting, "I did. I didn't collect anything perishable so I figured I'd swing by to lend a hand here." Calleigh Duquesne strolled up with the ease and assurance of a woman who knew her business.

Horatio quickly explained the situation; how the victim had been found shot at the foot of the tree about ten hours previously. "The shot was a through and through. Graveyard got the bullet out of the ground over there. They left a marker showing the angle of the bullet as it entered the dirt. You'll have to talk to Alexx about the path the bullet took through the victim. They also took blood samples but I'd like you to collect as if no previous work had been done; take photos, figure possible bullet trajectories—"

"—and look for a casing." Not nicknamed Bullet Girl for nothing, her eyes lit up at the prospect.

The lieutenant's eye was caught by the look of frustration on Bernstein's face. "Something on your mind, Detective?"

"If what your men found over there is a robbery gone bad, that makes the third in the last eight months in this area. It may also be connected with two others. A couple of mini-marts have been robbed. Both were late night hits and both were while the clerk had gone into the back to take a quick pee. Doors were locked, but both were broken through in the same way and register pried open using the same tool. It was done so quickly the clerks didn't see a thing. No fingerprints were left there either."

Horatio's mind recreated the scene of the night before. The kid was sitting under a tree, in perfect position to be a lookout. Someone shot him and the blast from the gun no doubt alarmed the robbers who left before the job was finished. Why kill the lookout? "Why do you see a connection between home robberies and store robberies?"

"Each done without being seen, no fingerprints. Owners were gone for the evening, store clerks taking a quick break. Seems to be a lot of homework done each time."

"No one killed before?"

"And no trace left before. May be a coincidence."

Horatio peeped at Bernstein over his sunglasses. "Now, you and I both know, that when it comes to crime, there are no coincidences."

The present:

All Horatio knew at that moment was he had an aching need to kiss this woman in his arms. He so very much wanted to taste her dark red lips. For some reason, though, he also wanted her to shut those disturbingly dark, dark eyes that seemed to be more like deep smoldering fire pits. Yet, he couldn't seem to lower his head to kiss her! Yearning for those writhing lips, he couldn't bring her closer. He strained down and she seemed to want to rise up to him. Perhaps she was too short or maybe, as he was, she was restrained, somehow. The eyes were taunting him with promise of a fiery, wonderful demise if he came closer. Damn! He wanted to kiss her! Even though her face wouldn't come up, a part of his own body, lower down, did seem to be rising. Otherwise, however, he couldn't seem to move!

Her eyes pleaded with him, begged him to hold her, kiss her, want her; her lips moved and twisted and ran, like a gash in the side of a can of tomato soup, bleeding, pouring. She started crying out her need, "Lieutenant! Lieutenant. Lieutenant Caine." Her voice got louder and closer but somehow, she seemed to recede.

"Lieutenant Caine."

Horatio jerked his head up, fully awake now. He hoped it was only moment ago that he'd been sitting at his desk, cradling his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, realizing how tired he was. Three hours of sleep the night before just wasn't enough, even for him. That would teach him to go clubbing in the middle of the week. He'd leaned forward just a second ago, gotten lost in thought, and must have drifted off. Now, he stared at an incredible face, strange but incredibly different from the vision he'd just had. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure if he still dreaming or not.

In this case, instead of dark, the eyes were a pale, ice blue. So pale, in fact, the irises looked nearly white around the small dark pupils. To emphasize the iris' lack of color, the lids carried short, but thick, very dark lashes . The effect emphasized the startling eyes. A tiny pink mouth in the shape of a perfect cupid's bow below a pug nose, smiled prettily.

"Good morning, sunshine!" The face moved back and became a woman standing in front of the lieutenant's desk.

Even her hair was unusual in that it looked like a mixing bowl had been slapped over her head and used as a form by which to cut the edges; then a mixer had been used to whip it into a sort of wild frappe. Even the color was a bit odd, not quite blond, not quite red, and not quite brown. Only strands of gray throughout showed the shading wasn't due to the warped imagination of a mad hairdresser.

Not one to be easily embarrassed, even if caught asleep on the job, Horatio laid his hands down and smiled. "May I help you?"

The woman paused and fixed him with a calm gaze. The crime scene investigator was struck by a feeling that his response was being carefully assessed. Then, as if making a decision, the woman made a slight adjustment in her demeanor and put her hand out. "Hi, I'm Sally Brandt. I was brought over to fill in for Vince Pirelli. He's on an extended vacation to Europe or some such."

Horatio took the cool hand and felt a surprisingly warm grip. His mind still foggy he groped at the name she'd mentioned. Oh, yes, Vince was the police department psychologist. "I'd heard he's going to be gone for at least three months and that a replacement was going to be subbing for him. Are you introducing yourself around?" The investigator liked it when new staff made their presence known.

"Actually, no, I'm not." Dark freckles across her ruddy cheeks and over the bridge of a nose that was hardly there seemed to emphasize her eyes even more. "Ordinarily, if you don't want to know the local nut doctor, I don't want to know you. However, I'm here because I may have some information that might interest you."

Taking note of the pejorative 'nut doctor', Horatio scrutinized this person invading his office. "Which is?"

"Today, downstairs, I heard Detective Frank Tripp talking about some robberies around Coral Gables. I caught his comment about how precise the timing of each one seems to be. Then he said something about how these have been going on for about three years or more."

"And?" Horatio congenially urged.

Sitting on the chair in front of the desk, Sally leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, showing a bit of knee peeking from the folds of her khaki a-line skirt. "My real job, when I'm not subbing for your local ha-ha-man, is as forensic psych for this and three other counties of southern Florida."

Horatio again caught the slam at the job this striking woman been selected to take. He knew that when a regular employee went on vacation, the state government didn't exactly choose substitutes with the greatest care. He couldn't help but wonder if she was joking or if the government, in its infinite wisdom, was having its own kind of joke on MDPD employees.

Using a finger with a nail chewed down to the skin to tap on a folder in her lap, Sally Brandt explained. "About three and a half years ago, a six month old unsolved was handed over to me to see if I could glean anything. It was a kid, about fifteen years old, single shot to the head, apparently. No evidence was found, except for lack of bullet casing. I was asked to see if I could figure out a profile for the murderer."

Fully awake now, his attention was arrested. He remembered the case. It was the one from nightshift that his team had done some work on. Any unsolved case from his watch always stayed in his memory, annoying him like an unscratched itch. From the momentary lowering of her eyebrows, Horatio could see that she'd caught his change of attitude.

She continued. "Well, obviously, there wasn't much to go on. A single print of a work boot near the body, similar to a smudged print found in the dirt from an aborted robbery across the street. The victim was apparently shot as he slept."

"That's my recollection of it." Horatio reached out. "May I take a look?"

As if realizing the purpose for having carried the folder in, she hurriedly handed it over. "Of course."

While Horatio quickly glanced through the reports, Sally sat quietly examining her hands in her lap, running her thumbs over the ragged edges of the nails. Though he never forgot an unsolved case, he was glad to be reminded of the particulars. "So, what was there about Tripp's comments that made you think of this case?"

"The word 'precision' caught my attention. As you see in the file, no casing was found but there was a bullet that was found in the dirt. It was a type used by the military up to about thirty years ago. The likely gun used was the type that expelled the casings. The lack of a casing could mean it was picked up by the killer. If that's so, I assume, then, that the person who did it is extremely detail oriented. Then, the way the shooting was done, it could have been an execution rather than a crime of opportunity. In the military, what's one of the worst crimes? Sleeping while on duty. There was no other reason for that kid to have been in that neighborhood at that time, sitting under a tree, across the street from a robbery except to be a lookout. Military operations are known for their precision and attention to details. Adding in a string of unsolved crimes known for precision since then, I might be jumping to conclusions, but I thought you might be interested in them."

Silence bounced around the glass-enclosed room while the Lieutenant considered the psychologist's line of reasoning. "An interesting thought." His lower lip pushed up at his upper lip. "Unfortunately, it doesn't really give up any additional information, does it?"

"Might narrow the field as to who you're looking for."

"You think perhaps it might be someone in the armed services or with a military background?"

Sally's startling eyes landed on Horatio, giving him the feel of an arctic blast, then lifted to view the blue sky beyond the tall window behind him. "Perhaps not directly. Could be an aficionado of the military lifestyle. Could also be entirely coincidental." She shrugged as she lowered her gaze and then shifted it slightly to the right.

Horatio nodded. He didn't think there was any coincidence about it. He was glad that she didn't often look at him directly; that icy stare was an experience of its own kind. "It gives me good reason to look at the crimes Frank has been dealing with."

"Because of this murder, you mean?" The spread of her lips said she knew the answer to that already. She knew that the CSI only handled crimes involving suspicious deaths or murders.

The slenderly built woman stood up from her chair and the six-foot CSI Lieutenant rose also. He again felt as if there was another assessment being done, but in what area, he couldn't guess.

"Well," she said. "I actually seem to have accomplished something on my first day here. I hope it helps to catch the jerk who did this." She stuck out her hand again. "I'll be going on my way, then. See you!"

He took her hand briefly, and then he watched her whirl around. As she reached the door, she threw a brief chilling glance over her shoulder. Instead of the cold splash from those eyes, he saw a woman who was perhaps flirting with him. Then she headed down the stairs to the main floor of the lab.

Sitting down, Horatio felt the need to analyze what had just happened. For one thing, the whole conversation struck Horatio as peculiar. Perhaps it was just because of the strange dream he'd been having or perhaps a bit of residual discomfiture at having been literally caught napping. He didn't want to think it had anything to do with her looks. Putting the thought aside, his mind turned to the subject she'd brought to him.

Reopening the file, he took another look at it. Verifying what he thought he'd remembered about the case, Horatio pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Francis?"

He waited for the acknowledgment.

"I think I may have reason to join you on a case."

Criminalists were seldom brought into cases of robbery, so, until now, the Coral Gables' break-ins and robberies that Frank had been investigating were in his purview only. Now CSI could step in. Horatio had an idea, that, this time, the bald police detective wouldn't mind the intrusion.

TBC

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Horatio's rich voice over the speakers warmed the morgue's arena. "Your message said not to come into the ground area, Alexx. May I ask why?"

The lashes on the medical examiner's exotic eyes lowered briefly, as she briefly shook her head. She finished what she was doing before raising her gaze to the observation windows above. "Well, that was sure fast. Quiet as ever too."

The two friends smiled familiarly at each other. Alexx Woods had often cautioned the CSI Lieutenant that his sneaking up on folks could increase the population in her territory. He always ignored her good-natured chiding just as he did the similar warnings from Calleigh.

Getting down to business, Alexx gestured at the desiccated form on the table. "I'm not sure of what I'm dealing with here, Horatio. These are two of the seven bodies we dug up on that elder abuse case you're working on." She indicated the other table behind her that held a similarly decomposed form. "Now, the other five did show signs of over medication, just as you suspected. I've sent the samples on them up to the lab for more complete testing." She paused and looked down at the wrinkled face on the table in front of her. "You, you poor darling, got something different than an overdose of pain killers, didn't you?" She turned her gaze upwards again. "And the one on the other table, here, shows the same thing." She barely turned as if not wanting to look at the table behind her.

For the first time, Horatio noticed what the medical examiner was wearing. Shifting his stance a bit wider, turning his body slightly though his gaze remained on his friend, he asked, "Is that why you didn't want me down there?"

"Yes. I've taken precautions and I don't think this is really all that serious, but I just figured the fewer exposures the better, until I can determine what this is about."

"What do you think it is, Alexx? Best guess."

The torso of the old woman's body down to just above the pubic area lay exposed under the bright lights. It had been opened from the throat down to the bottom of the stomach area. The entire front section of ribs and breast bone had been cut out from the body and laid carefully on the cart by Alexx' side. The lungs had been lifted out and were laid across the flaps of skin and breast draped over the victim's upper arms. The heart, stilled from its years of 7/24 toil, was pushed aside to reveal the esophagus that extended from the mouth downward. This had been cut lengthwise and splayed apart. The pale skin of the stomach area was laid open across the hips and lower arms. Alexx had cut through the diaphragm muscle to reveal the rest of the esophagus all the way to the stomach.

Usually, when examining the stomach and its contents, Alexx only made a small incision and removed what she needed. She'd long ago declared she didn't like to make any more of a mess of the ones that came through her domain than had been done by killers and accidents already. In this case, however, she'd completely slit open the stomach and had nearly turned it inside out. It looked like she'd also removed most of the intestines and done a spot check of the insides of each ropey bit every couple of feet.

"Horatio, I'm seeing extensive tissue deterioration in both of these people. I think it was caused by constant doses of radiation! Who would do such a thing to senior?" She gestured at the body in front of her.

Visions of a previous radiation incident flashed through Horatio's mind and he almost grabbed the mike at the word. Knowing this woman's intelligence, he also knew she would have hit the alarm button and been out of there if she thought there was any immediate danger. She didn't want to leave her children without a mother. His hands, however, did rise to meet, one fiddling with the finger of the other, as they often did when he was processing new information. He tilted his head. "What part of the body is affected, Alexx?"

"The entire digestive tract! From the mouth on through! Ulcers on the tongue, jawbone was degenerated, teeth ready to come out, the entire abdominal area shows signs of being affected. They were being fed something with radiation in it. I think it's been constant, low dosing over a long period, too."

"Are you being careful, Alexx?" The exposure the two of them had received in the previous incident hadn't hurt them but neither needed more.

Her face nearly splitting in toothy acknowledgement of her friend's concern, Alexx replied, "Did a check with a Geiger counter as soon as I figured it out. The amount of radiation at these levels would take several weeks to do any damage. As you can see, I did put on lead lined apron and gloves. Doesn't help with the examination process, but I'm not taking any chances. I already sent tissue samples over to the radiation people so they can determine what I'm dealing with."

"Good. When you're done, send the files up."

Before Alexx could answer in the affirmative, Horatio was gone. She shook her head again and muttered, "Comes and goes like a ghost." She returned to administering care and concern as she continued her examinations.

"Eric." Horatio stopped his team member in the lab hallway. He was carrying a couple of red-taped manila envelopes.

"H! yeah, I know! I just got done with the blood samples from five of the old people. I was just returning them to the evidence locker. It was definitely too much pain medication that got to them. Every one had had enough drugs in their system to kill three people. Now we just have to figure out who gave it to them. I haven't got any samples from the last two yet."

"You haven't gotten samples from the last two because our case just expanded, Eric." He explained what Alexx had found. "I'm sure this isn't part of the drug case, either. Low dose radiation poisoning takes too long to kill. This is something else entirely. I want you to take it, please."

Delko nodded, his demeanor changing. "I'll tell Calleigh I won't be working with her any more."

"Thank you, Eric. First, find out what you can on the two Alexx has in her morgue. Then, go to the retirement homes they came from and see who else may have died in a similar manner. Get all the information you can."

Delko looked uncomfortable. "Go to those places? H, can I take Natalia with me? Those old people warehouses give me the creeps. I hate that families do that."

Knowing that Natalia Boa Vista, the newest member of the team needed experience, Horatio agreed.

Finishing a few more instructions to Delko and sending him on his way, Horatio walked on. Coming to Ryan Wolfe he said, "Mr. Wolfe, our elder abuse case has expanded."

As usual, the intense CSI was impatiently tapping his fingers while waiting for a printer to spit out test results. "You found more?" Ryan grabbed the paper from the ink-jet printer and blew on it to hurry the drying of the ink. "I just printed out the cemetery locations of the ones we already found."

"It turns out that two of them didn't die from being overdosed with painkillers. Alexx thinks they died from the results of constant doses of radiation into their system. Alexx is checking now on how the radiation was administered."

"Does she think there might be more?"

"She didn't say, but I think it's a possibility. You'll be working with Eric on this one. I'd like you to return to the cemeteries where these two victims were interred, please."

Wolfe's reasoning powers leaped ahead. "And you want me to take a radiation detector?" His eyes wandered the room like a kid scanning for Easter eggs. "Hmm, if it's low radiation, maybe a regular detector wouldn't work. I'll call the Radiation Agency and see if they have a device that can detect low radiation deeper than a few inches." Although not a tech-nut, the idea of a new forensic toy always excited the brown haired CSI.

"Be sure and take an officer with you when you go to the cemetery. People might take exception to you waving anything over their relatives' graves."

Smiling ruefully, Ryan nodded to his boss. After his brief experience a few months previously with Santeria, a belief that includes making offerings of a goat's head to bring good fortune, Ryan knew exactly to what his boss was referring. "For that kind of road trip, for sure." The variety of cultures in Miami included a wide range of belief systems as well. Waving a modern machine over a grave of a loved one might well be taken amiss.

Frank Tripp was shaking his well trimmed fringed head over some paperwork when he heard Horatio's voice. Glad to vent, he slapped at the papers as he rose from his desk to greet his colleague. "Can you believe this? A guy from Oklahoma came in here to register his intentions as a bounty hunter this morning. Nothing unusual in that, except he was carrying the phoniest looking badge you ever saw, and an unregistered gun to boot. Has the sign in front of the building been changed from 'Miami-Dade Police Department and Crime Scene Investigation Laboratories' to 'Stupid Cops Inside'?"

The skin around his blue eyes crinkling at the taller man's colorful descriptions, Horatio felt himself being pulled into the familiar policeman's shop talk. "Is it a full moon, you think?"

"Maybe so. You know, if he was a kid, then, I'd get that it was some fraternity hazing trick. This guy is middle aged, carries an Oklahoma drivers' license renewed just last month, and proof of being a veteran." He shook his head again, leaving his mouth open in wonder.

"You keeping him overnight?" Horatio knew the drill from his days as a 'blue' in New York before making detective.

"Yeah, run a search while we have him; hope he's out of our hair after that." Having run the subject down, Frank blinked his green eyes at Horatio in expectation. "You said you were joining me on a case? Which one and when did I issue an invite?"

If he didn't know Frank better now, Horatio would have thought he still resented intrusions into what he considered his territory. Although their relationship was one of easy friendship now, the remark recalled the earlier times when Frank felt that his toes were getting stepped on in mutual investigations. Just to be sure, however, the CSI Lieutenant decided to be at his diplomatic best. "Frank, its part of an old case; one that you inherited from Bernstein. In a way, I was invited back then."

Taking note of Horatio's wrinkled forehead, his apologetic stance, Frank replied, "Are you talking about that string of robberies that's been haunting me for two and half years?"

"The same, Frank."

"What have you got to do with it? There's no murder, and no government conspiracy, or am I missing something?"

"It turns out there might be a murder connected with one of those early crimes. It's a slim connection, Frank but I think it's necessary to follow up."

Tripp knew better than to argue with this analytical veteran when he spoke so softly and with such determination. He sat back at his desk and threw a gesture at the battered chair next to it. "Okay, tell me."

Ten minutes later, Frank was laboriously pulling up computer database records on Marky Samson. The only parent listed, Lucy Samson, had a different address now than the one listed in the records in the old file. "Well," Frank had remarked, "that's normal. Probably moved away from memories of a dead child. Let's see if the phone number still relevant." He pulled out his cell phone and carefully poked his big fingers at the number listed on the police database.

Forty-five minutes later, Horatio was bracing himself for some grief in front of a rather decent apartment located in a dilapidated neighborhood. He was waiting for an answer to his knock at the door. No doubt, the mother wouldn't be happy to see him again. Even old memories of the death of a child weren't recalled without pain. He looked over at Frank who ducked his head, not wanting to admit that he was glad it was Horatio that was going to get the brunt of emotions, not him.

The interview went far better than Horatio expected. Lucy Samson had resigned herself to 'the will of God' with a sad, quiet dignity.

"So, you think Marky may have had something to do with a robbery?" She drew a hand thoughtfully to her cheek. "I never could figure out why he'd have been in that fine neighborhood where he was killed. I mean, at the time, I think someone brought that up, but of course, I rejected the notion then. Now, here you are, more than three years later, saying it again. I suppose you could be right."

"Ma'am, at this point, whether he was or not, isn't the point. We're just trying to look at the case in a new light. One of the questions not asked back then was who did he hang around with? Who might he have been meeting in that neighborhood or who might have asked him to be there?"

"Oh, Marky didn't hang around with any bad crowd. I saw to that. He spent every free moment either here at home with me or, when I was working, at the Boys and Girls Club that was between where we lived then and his school. They were really helping him out there with his basketball game. My, he was getting good at it, too." She smiled with pride.

Frank pulled a notebook out of the inside pocket of his desert sand colored suit jacket. "Boys and Girls Club? Where is that located, Ms Samson?"

A couple of hours later, the two men had introduced themselves and flashed their badges to the director of the Boys and Girls Club of South Miami. Instead of interest or fear, the surprisingly tall Filipino, looking directly into Horatio's eyes, shook his head in frustrated anger.

"Okay, who are you looking for and what did he do? Damn kids!" He looked around hopelessly at the walls of the small reading room that was covered in graffiti.

It took a few minutes to establish that they weren't there to arrest anyone and more time to listen to pleas for them to take someone, anyone off his hands. Finally, he told them that yes, he remembered the name of Marky Samson, though he had come in as new director a few months after the young man's death. A real rising star, he'd heard. And just by coincidence, the man who acted as basketball coach for the center then was still here, outside now, in the side court. He pointed almost urgently at the door.

Feeling like the kids this harried director constantly shooed away, the two men stepped back out into the bright Miami afternoon and walked to the side of the building. The basketball court was overflowing with three groups of kids of all ages struggling for control of three different balls on the court. Standing to one side was a bemused older black man in gold shorts and a black tank top, both of which had seen better days. A silver whistle hung from a frayed cord around his neck.

Remembering youthful days spent on courts in New York, Horatio was very nearly tempted to remove his dark blue jacket and join the fun.

"I wouldn't, if I were you." Tired eyes twinkled quietly behind gold wire glasses.

"Excuse me?" asked Horatio as he approached the man.

"I saw the look on your face. His too." His smiling eyes looked directly across at Tripp's green ones. "Those kids need fathers so bad even a pale face would end up getting mobbed. You wouldn't be seen for days!"

"Afraid we're not here to play." Horatio discreetly moved his jacket to one side, briefly displaying the badge while Tripp merely drew himself up and 'looked like' a police officer.

The man lowered his head and sighed. "Who is it? I'll call him over. Please, can you can just take him away quietly. These kids are used to it, but still…"

After the detectives explained their purpose, the man introduced himself. "I'm Coach Bill Baskins. The kids call me Basket. I hope it's because I can still sink one from across the court and not because I'm close to being a basket case after working with them for so long." He paused, waiting for the usual smile or snicker at his age old joke and then continued. "Marky Samson, huh? Wow, how long's it been? Three-four years?"

Horatio could tell he didn't have to ask the sixty-something year old any more questions. Obviously, he'd worked with kids, most of who were troubled or in trouble, for so long, he knew the drill.

"Let's see. Are any of Marky's friends still around here? Hmm. A couple of the ones who were young then—" Basket paused and raised his chin, acknowledging a man dressed in common work clothes just entering the court.

Taking notice that many of the kids broke from their groups to crowd around the newcomer, an ebony-black man with unkempt dreadlocks, Horatio asked, "Is that an assistant?"

Basket shook his head but said, "Only unofficially. He's a volunteer. Comes in when he can from his job down the street. We appreciate any help we can get. The kids look at me as an authority figure, so they'll get closer to the volunteers before me. 'Course, we keep an eye on the volunteers, make sure they're not perverts."

Tripp nodded conversationally. "Nice to see, though."

"Hm, see that kid on his right? He was part of the gang back when Marky was around. He's maybe what you're looking for." Basket raised one hand in the air and with the other stuck a whistle in his mouth. Blowing a loud blast, the entire crowd of kids froze like a photograph and the noise ceased. "Hey Tookie! Bring yourself over here!" Keeping his hand raised, he pointed one long finger downward. Having done that, he lowered his hand and the action and noise resumed. He spit the whistle from his mouth.

The kid looked in both directions to find the quickest easiest route around to the other side of the crowded court, chose, and loped at an easy dogtrot to join the adults.

Tookie remembered Marky alright. As soon as the dead boy's name was mentioned, a warily wistful look crossed his face. He craned his neck to look across the court as if to find someone on the other side. Apparently not seeing who he wanted he turned to ask what the questioning was about.

In answer to Horatio's explanation, Tookie answered, "All I knew about what happened to Marky was it was some gang shooting. That's all."

From the intense look Tookie was giving him, Horatio sensed that wasn't all but didn't see any reason to pursue that angle. "Was he better at basketball than other kids? Or could anyone have been mad at him, do you think? Or would you say he had a bit of trouble concentrating on the game?"

Long savvy about this line of questioning, Tookie replied, "You mean did he have gang enemies or was he into drugs? Nah! I don't think so. I mean, he was like, three years older 'n me, so I didn't pay all that much attention to him, but I remember all he could talk about was 'the game.' I guess, because he was growing tall, he thought maybe he'd have a chance at being a champ or something. Everybody we hung around with thought he was smart and liked him."

Basket chimed in, "Yeah, one of the things I tell the kids all the time is that drugs can stunt your growth." He turned to Tripp. "You ever take drugs?"

Before Tripp could shake his head in the negative the coach continued, "Ask any tall man if he ever took drugs growing up and you'll get a no!" He was looking directly at Tookie.

At barely five and a half feet tall, the fourteen-year-old lad violently shook his head in denial, "I've never taken drugs! No one is tall in my family. I'm actually the taller than my mom!"

Reaching out to touch his shoulder, Horatio sought to calm the boy down. "You probably wouldn't be here now if you were into drugs, son. The main reason I asked about Samson's concentration was wondering if he was worried or upset? Had he perhaps been invited into a gang and maybe didn't want to join? Was he in that neighborhood where he was found because he was being hazed?" The remark about not asking about drugs wasn't entirely true but it had been answered and that's all that counted right now. He wanted more information.

Tookie's reaction wasn't quite what Horatio would have expected. Instead of hard, flat denial of gang activity, or a look of a lie about to be told, Tookie's face took on a relaxed, stone cold look. "Marky was my friend. In our group, we all look out for each other, but we're not a gang. I'd heard some gang took him out. I'm sorry he's dead." Finished with his obviously rehearsed speech he looked up at Basket. "Can I go now?" Then he looked longingly over at the growing group around the volunteer. "Clyde's not going to be here long."

Receiving a nod from Horatio and a disgusted frown from Tripp, Basket stepped back and pointed to the path Tookie had come to them on. "Go!" Watching the kid trot off he whispered under his breath, "Like a magnet to iron! Heh!" Without a break, he continued talking to the two, "Come to think of it, a kid Marky used to hang with is now working at a market a couple of blocks from here. I see him all the time."

Quicker than a blink, Tripp pulled out his notepad and asked for the name of the kid and the store's address.

The store was a typical mom'n'pop place, though larger than most. Candy and snacks on wire stands up front, household items in the center, entry to the storeroom in the back covered by a tattered curtain. On one side of the doorway stood bins of overripe vegetables and on the other, small glass-door refrigerators full of beer and a couple of cartons of milk.

The small Asian woman of indeterminate age at the front counter directed them to go to the back of the store. They found the gangly, black eighteen-year-old hauling empty cartons from fully stocked shelves. Following him through the smelly storage area, out to the smellier dumpsters in the alley, they watched as he tore the cartons apart. The answers to their questions were familiar. Drugs stunted growth, he thought Marky was killed by a drive-by shooting incident, he and the others in the group at the time looked out for each other. "Marky was my friend. I'd heard some gang took him out. I'm sorry Marky is dead." The same words with the same deadpan expression fell flatly out of the kid's mouth.

Horatio looked at Tripp, who acknowledged him by making a tight little 'oh' of his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Horatio thanked the boy and turned to look over the alley, indicating he was done with the interview.

A few minutes later, strolling side by side down the alley to the Hummer, parked in the street in front, the two were quiet. Tripp knew from the redhead's hunched over walk that he was processing all he'd heard and seen. When he continued the silence all the way back to the department, Tripp figured that Horatio had found a great deal more than seemed evident on the surface of the afternoon's work.

Finally, on the brief elevator ride from the garage beneath the building to the first floor where Frank worked, Horatio commented, "Ever see movies where a soldier is being interrogated by the enemy and all he gives is his rank and serial number?"

At first Tripp didn't get it, but then the light came on, "Yeah, you mean where they show the soldier going all quiet and calm, giving a rote answer, like those kids did. Yeah, the way they both said the same thing, it did sound rehearsed, now that you mention it." Standing at the open elevator door to his floor, Frank crossed one arm at his waist and used it as a stand to prop his elbow while his hand stroked at his chin. "And you know what else? Both those kids thought the shooting was gang related. Right? Well, I was working Gang Detail back then and that area where the kid was shot was in no way part of a gang territory. Nobody would've cared if he'd been there. Both of those kids were told what to say if they were ever questioned."

"They did Frank." His bright blue eyes unfocused, his head tilting to one side, one hand toying with the forefinger of his other hand, he shifted his weight.

"So, what's the connection between this kid, Marky, and the robberies?"

Horatio frowned and grinned at the same time. "At this point, Frank, I'm not sure. Just something that Sally Brandt had said about a possible military connection. This seems to be one more pointer in the same track.'

Tripp caught the elevator door just as it was about to close again and shook his head. "If you say so. Sounds like a variation on a well rehearsed lie to me." He strolled out, allowing the doors to swoosh shut.

Horatio continued his ride up to the lab, considering everything he'd observed in the last few hours. There was so much and so little.

TBC

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Natalia Boa Vista pretended her nose was itching and rubbed it. She was desperately hoping there was some vestige of odor left from her hand cream. Actually, she wanted just to cover her nose and mouth entirely. Even if she had to sniff her own armpits to hide the god-awful odor in this place, she knew she'd do it if she could. She and Delko had just left the elevator to The Everglades Rest Home and Senior Care Hospital. Both had expected something of an old-person smell in the nursing home, but not the stench that hit them as the doors opened onto the hospital floor. The CSI rookie rolled her eyes at Eric who looked even sicker than she felt.

He made no effort to lower his growl. "People don't come here to die. They're killed coming here!" He grimaced. The smell was worse than decomp.

Looking around, getting their bearings, their first sight was of the many people in wheel chairs, parked along the walls. Each pale, frail figure seemed to lean or droop at odd angles. Even the ones who weren't really so frail (some were ponderously fat) were canted at different angles, their gazes hopelessly vacant. Some were literally tied against the backs of the chairs with strips of cloth. One picked distractedly at the strip; maybe trying to figure out how to loosen it. The eyes of one or two kept darting about as if looking something lost or perhaps for an escape route.

A man with neatly combed hair who sat only slightly hunched in his chair, gestured to Eric, calling in a raspy voice, "You! You! Come here!"

Eric walked over and bent over. "Yes, sir?"

Raising a clawed hand, the man said, "I—I want—go get…," he paused and put a finger to his lips as if thinking. He started again, "I need…you have to get me…"

Eric tried to prompt the now distraught man. "What do you need me to get, sir?"

Delko was rescued by a plumpish woman dressed in lime sherbet colored pants and a blouse with a cartoon print that might have been better suited to a pediatrician's office. "Not to worry, Mr. Grimes, I'll bring it right to you." She almost shouted the words as she abruptly pulled the man's chair backwards and wheeled it around in a circle to sit in the opposite direction along the wall. She turned back and looked up approvingly at Delko's handsome features. "There! You're out of sight and gone from his memory. Now, how can I help you?"

Glancing around the woman's shoulder in askance at the abrupt dismissal of what seemed to be someone in need, he saw that the man now sat quietly, staring at his knees. He thought better of questioning her actions. Deciding to get to their purpose, the CSI introduced himself and Natalia. "You had a patient by the name of Victoria Reeves here about three months ago."

The nurse bustled over to the attendant station set into a central bay area in the hallway. "Oh! You're here about that!" She lost her admiring smile. "We're looking into those charges of abuse, you know. Been questioned six ways from Sunday already."

Eric smiled apologetically. "Actually, we're not here about that. Although she's been included in the complaint, we don't think Victoria Reeves died of a drug overdose. We think she may have died from something else."

The nurse brightened considerably. "Oh! Yes, I remember her now. Good thing I'm still here. Nurses don't last long on this floor. Sort of discouraging to work here, you know." She tapped on a keyboard in front of a computer monitor. "Yes, I have her records now. Moved here from Dade Memorial. Looks like she had some sort of bleeding ulcers or something. She couldn't go home in her condition." She pulled up another screen. "Yes, she had a daughter. The daughter is incapacitated in some way; I don't think she ever even visited Victoria. I heard she couldn't even deal with the funeral. Poor thing." Then she added with a bite in her voice, "But she was sure able to join that lawsuit of wrongful death against us!"

She closed the screen down and turned to face the visitors. "We had Victoria for about six weeks. I remember she kept wanting us to go get her water from her house. Our water here wasn't good enough for her, I guess."

"The doctors here couldn't do anything for her?" Delko's feeling of exasperation was evident in the tone of his voice.

"Well, it wasn't our fault. I know that. What with those others who died around that time, and that, we were running around like chickens with our heads cut off. It was a real epidemic. I know for sure Ms Reeves, though, didn't die from pain meds like they're saying. She was a tough old bird and wouldn't even take her stomach meds half the time. I think she died from the ulcers she had."

Natalia flashed her most brilliant smile and assured, "Yes, and we were wondering if maybe you had any other cases then or have any current cases with similar symptoms? We're trying to see if there's a common connection."

"No, nothing as bad as that one. For sure, it's not our fault! She came in like that! There's a few here with ulcers, but they're not dying from them. Poor Victoria seemed to have them from her mouth, her tongue, her throat, everywhere! It was just awful, but not our fault!" The woman shook her head.

Delko wasn't sure if the woman was shaking her head in denial of guilt or at the memory of the patient's illness.

After a few more questions regarding any friends or acquaintances of the dead woman, the two left the pungent environs of The Everglades Senior Care Hospital.

Next, they went to the next home on their list where the second victim in the morgue had resided. Though the hallways of The Bright Sunshine Retirement Home were filled with wheelchairs, the occupants didn't seem to be as helpless or as far-gone. A few were alert and chatting with one another. There was a bit of unpleasant odor, but nothing like their previous experience. The nurse that helped them in this case was a tiny Haitian who spoke precisely through her heavy accent. "Ah, yes. Nancy Broward. She kept saying, whenever she heard her name or introduced herself, 'no relation to the rich Browards'. I liked her. We had the same first names." The woman tapped on her plastic nametag appended to her white uniform blouse which bore the name Nurse Nancy.

Yes, she'd continued telling the two investigators, two others, before Ms Broward, had died in a similar manner. They'd come at the same with mouth sores, tiredness, and severe diarrhea. "Sisters, they were."

Natalia and Eric looked at each other. Each knew the other was wondering how many deaths they'd be investigating before this was over.

"Yes, it was awful how one still had some teeth and how they could be plucked out just like dentures; the jaw was that deteriorated. We fed them nothing heavier than well-cooked oatmeal with milk and custards and gave them meds to help heal the ulcers. Still, nothing seemed to help." She shook her head sadly while she gave them the names of the victims and the relative who'd been contacted at their deaths. "They were twins, Lunette and Soleil. They were in such bad shape, they didn't make much sense, ever. Talked like they were children, they did. Lunette's son was the one who visited them." She gave them the son's name and address.

Suddenly the nurse snapped her fingers and motioned them to follow her.

"You know, Nancy Broward was good friends with our Mr. Thomas, in room 105. He's not sick but says he likes being up here. He's the oldest resident at Sunshine so we let him do as he likes. He's almost a hundred and three."

She ushered them into a room and called out loudly, "Mr. Thomas! I have some visitors here! They want you to tell them about Nancy Broward!"

Facing them in a wheelchair, dapperly dressed in a black silk smoking jacket with dark paisley silk pajamas, was a bald, wizened black man. He peered up through thickly rimmed glasses with lenses that made his dark eyes seem much larger. "Thank you, Nurse Nancy." His voice was surprisingly quiet and cultured.

Nancy turned and said in a lowered voice, "You'll have to shout. I don't know if he realizes he's deaf."

As she left, Mr. Thomas smiled and looked in the two criminalist's general direction and said, "I'm afraid you'll have to shout. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I can't hear and can't see well, but my mind is sharp. What can I do for you?"

He remembered Ms. Broward very well, saying hers was a voice he could hear better than most women's voices. "When she was feeling alright, which wasn't too often, given her condition, she'd talk about how she missed living at home. She lived over west of Miami, right near the everglades, you know. Told me fascinating stories about the area. You know, I lived in South Florida all of my life but spent my time in libraries, was a city boy, so I never knew much about the swamps. She told me about the different sorts of birds and of finding flowers in seas of marsh grass. Heh. She even made those awful 'gators sound interesting." He shook his head at the memory.

Eric leaned over and said loudly, "Did she ever mention what made her sick?"

The man's eyes widened slightly and looked about as if searching for something. "Well, I don't think so. She did keep saying she thought she'd be fine if she could just get revigorated again."

"Revigorated? What does that mean?"

The man shrugged. "Beats me. I didn't know what to make of her sometimes. She'd been such a country girl and often said things I couldn't quite make out."

Delko and Boa Vista spent a while asking about any friends or family the woman had had who might have visited her or that she'd talked about. Apparently, the person who had included her in the wrongful death suit was no relative, but a friend of some sort. At least, whoever it was that brought the suit never visited Nancy while she was in the hospital. She'd mentioned having a son but he'd never visited either. In return for the information, the two CSI's stayed another half hour listening to fascinating stories of what life for an intelligent black man in Miami had been like before the days of Martin Luther King.

Later, before he'd even closed the silver Hummer's door, Eric exploded. "They didn't know why these people died! This is a hospital, for god sakes!"

"Why weren't we supposed to say they'd died of radiation poisoning?" Natalia hoped that by changing the subject, she could get Delko to calm down

Though he wanted to snap Natalia's head off in his frustration, Delko reigned himself in. It was a reasonable question, one, in fact, he'd asked Horatio earlier that day. He'd gotten the impression that Horatio wasn't entirely sold on the answer he gave.

Delko and the lieutenant were standing in the central area of the lab. Eric knew Horatio well enough to see that he wasn't entirely comfortable with answering. "Eric I've been cautioned that there are several reasons to keep this quiet. One, we don't know the source of radiation right now. If it's some sort of terrorist activity, more widespread than we've discovered thus far, it could cause panic."

Delko grimaced as he spoke. "I guess the last radiation scare started by that idiot reporter, Erica Sykes, is a good example of what would happen if news like that got out, especially if it came from us."

Eric remembered how Horatio had looked at him, like he was glad that he 'got it'. It was little things like that which made him feel like maybe he was recovering after all.

The boss had then continued, "And until we identify the sort of radiation it is, how much, when these people were exposed, we don't want to give the slightest hint that we're accusing anyone, including the nursing homes, of any wrongdoing. The state's attorney has been very clear on that."

Delko just hoped he'd remembered everything properly, had repeated to Boa Vista what Horatio had said. He was fully aware of the impairment that the gunshot to his head had caused. He still had to be sure he had a firm grasp on tools he used, instruments, or evidence before picking them up or he risked dropping them. He also understood that his speech was sometimes slow. Although his short-term memory was supposedly unimpaired, he still didn't quite trust it.

He felt better when Boa Vista nodded as if she understood and said, "Word from the powers-that-be to Horatio's ear. I guess we'll just have to live with it." Then to acknowledge Eric's outburst she added, "But still, yeah, you'd think they'd wonder what caused such severe ulcerations, especially to three people in one place."

As he leaned forward to start the Hummer, Delko set his mouth in a firm line. "Don't think about what people should do, Natalia. If you do that, you'll never last in this job."

Ryan Wolfe looked over at Officer Bradley to make sure he was keeping a general lookout. So far, no one had so much as given him and his wheeled machine a second look. Still, he wanted to make sure he had backup. No telling what would happen in a cemetery.

It wasn't that Wolfe was afraid of anything supernatural happening. Even after that incident with Delko in the other cemetery, and then with that body that wasn't so dead in the morgue, and then his hands going numb from that blowfish powder, Ryan was fairly sure he had a good grasp on the real world. Okay, well, that laptop bursting into flames was a little strange, but still...

He suddenly realized he was walking out onto the roadway, where no headstones or lawn or graves could possibly be. '_Damn! Get your mind onto the job, man_.' Pretending he was just making an extra wide turn, he walked back up the incline to the next row of graves. Lining up about four feet below the grave markers, he walked the wheeled device across each grave.

The machine he was pushing was on loan from the Florida State Radiation Laboratory. Ordinarily used to find deposits of radioactive ore, it was similar to a machine he and Delko had used a few years previously. The other contraption worked on sound waves and found anomalies in layers of earth beneath them. That one had led to the quick location of a woman's body in an area that was being prepared for construction. The machine today was a sort of super Geiger counter. It detected radiation at depths of up to forty feet. A screen would show the area of radiation as a collection of bright dots and the relative depth at which it was located. How it did this, Ryan had no idea.

So far, other than a few tiny little blips, probably indicating that someone had been buried with their watches bearing numbers and hands painted with radium paint, there had been nothing so far. Alexx had explained that he should be looking for an area that was up to two feet wide and three feet long, the approximate area covering the mouth down to the pubic bone and filling the entire torso.

After he'd walked what must have been about five miles in the warm afternoon, Wolfe finally hit pay dirt. The dark screen, shielded by a hood from the sunlight showed a large glowing area at about six feet down. Finally, he was able to use one of the tiny flags mounted on a long piece of stiff wire. He'd been carrying several since he's started. He planted it discreetly above the grave marker. He also pulled out a detailed diagram of the cemetery he'd gotten from the office, and marked his find on it. Satisfied now that his trip hadn't been in vain, that the machine worked as well as Timmins at the Radlab had said it would, Wolfe continued on his way.

By evening, just as it was getting too dark to continue, Wolfe had found one more radioactive grave. He planted another flag and marked it on the diagram. He knew he'd be back tomorrow. After identifying the occupants of the graves from the records in the cemetery's office, he'd contact the families for permission, and then get orders from a judge for exhumation. While the digging took place, he'd finish the search. Once this was done, he had several more but much smaller cemeteries to walk. He wearily trudged on.

Calleigh sat looking at the reports on the five victims in frustration. There was no doubt that each had received a cocktail of several different painkillers. How could anyone do that to anyone, much less a senior and in a hospital? After eliminating the radiation victims from the count of hospitals, all of these people had been at one nursing home. These were the ones who had relatives concerned enough with the manner of their deaths to join the suit. The next question now was, were there more?

So many of the elderly died alone in nursing homes. Some had lived alone most of their lives, some had outlived anyone who cared and many had simply been abandoned by those who should have cared.

The petite blond ran her fingers through her long hair. She had great sympathy for people who worked in nursing home hospitals. It was difficult enough to work with the elderly when they were healthy. She fondly remembered the retirement center where she and Delko had worked that one case. That woman who'd died there had driven the staff nuts, though she was just having fun. Even the custodian who complained of the many screens the woman had broken, crawling in and out of her own bedroom window "to avoid being caught by her parents," had talked about it with a twinkle in his eyes.

But, to care for those who were incapacitated by their age, who had to be tended to hand and foot, was often, hard and discouraging work. Dead weight was physically hard to move, especially when it was unwilling. It was also emotionally hard to work in a place where it was commonplace for the one you took care of the day before to have died overnight.

Doctors at these places seldom looked for suspicious causes. Most were assigned so many patients, they didn't have the time Most doctors didn't do more than confirm death so they could move on to see whose life might be extended one more day, week, or month.

Well, that was part of what Calleigh's job was about. Being the one who cared why people died, who became the voice for those who could speak no longer.

Looking at Alexx' reports, she knew why these people had died; now she had to figure out who was the one, or ones, responsible. Was it staff negligence or was there a serial killer of some kind? The facility had already been asked the obvious question on deaths in the previous few years, of course. The numbers, they'd proven, hadn't varied too much until now. Asked and answered, so, no help there. Hitching her gold badge to an area where the clip didn't bite into her trim waist, she considered the next course. This was a puzzle. Okay, so what methods of solution was she looking for? Would finding more victims solve who killed them? Probably not. Who killed them was probably not their only connection to each other... Hm, and maybe, just maybe it was as simple as that!

Three hours later, as she stepped out of the elevator into the lab, Calleigh lost her grip on the giant stack of files she was toting. By sheer luck, Valera was passing by and was able to rescue her friend from being buried. The detective had managed the stack alright until her cell phone rang at the same moment as the elevator doors opened. Juggling the stack of folders in her arms, her phone and trying to get through the doors all at the same time, had been too much.

"What is all of this?" the lab tech exclaimed.

Realizing she'd lost the call, Calleigh thanked Valera and explained that she'd requested copies of the hospital files on the painkiller overdose victims. "I guess I had no idea of what I was asking for!" Some of the files were over six inches thick.

Valera, whose constantly changing hair styles had recently been returned to the short, piecey look, shook her head. "And you asked for them, why?"

"I hope to find a common thread that links the five of them."

"But that looks like thousands of pages."

"And most are handwritten by doctors. I can't tell you how much I'm not looking forward to this. I'm going to be blind by the time I'm done."

Valera patted Calleigh on her shoulder. "I have an aunt who wears glasses so thick, they look like the bottoms of those old fashioned coca-cola bottles. I'll see if I can borrow them for you, alright?"

Calleigh's smile wasn't as cheery as usual. "I was hoping for some different kind of help than that."

Valera patted the shorter woman again. "Sure. Always right there for you." She looked at a non-existent watch on her wrist. "Oh, gosh, look at the time. Gotta run, bye." She scurried down the hallway.

Standing for a moment, considering where she was going to have enough room to lay out the files, she hardly paid attention to the sound of the elevator doors opening behind her.

"Homework, this early in the school year?"

She was not surprised to hear her boss' somber voice. Even when far into concentration, Calleigh was seldom surprised by anything. "Yeah! That little professor in my head can be a real meany sometimes."

Listening to her plans about the files, Horatio nodded in agreement to her plan. With no offer of help and no thanks offered or needed, he took three files from the top of the stack. "Where are you headed?" He let her lead.

A little after seven that evening, Wolfe stumbled tiredly into the lunchroom hoping to grab a cup of coffee before checking out for the day. Instead of having the place to himself, as he'd expected, he found his teammates plus his boss present. They all were milling around tables, placing and moving papers, talking desultorily about the events of the day. He couldn't even find a place to take a load off of his weary feet. Hiking himself up onto a sit on the counter in front of the microwave, the only place in the room not covered in paper, he explained his lack of enthusiasm for joining in the walk-around. In turn, the others caught him up on their own cases.

Everyone quieted down when Eric asked, "So H, the new shrink put you onto a lead? What's she like? I was sorry to see Pirelli leave on vacation."

There was something about the way their boss paused before he spoke, that caused everyone to suddenly pay attention. Although he usually considered his words before voicing any kind of opinion, he didn't so obviously show it. They were a bit disappointed when all he said was, "I don't really know Eric. She came in, presented me with her thoughts on an old murder in connection with Tripp's current case, and left."

The looks that passed between the team members were lightning fast and would have been missed by anyone who didn't know them. Even though Horatio wasn't looking at them, he knew what they'd done. He also knew he'd put out a signal as broad and bright as the beam from the top of the Pyramid Hotel in Las Vegas. He didn't know how he'd done it or even what he'd done, but even as his lips formed a simple answer to the casual question, he knew he was somehow giving off signals.

Half an hour later, the sorting of the five thick files had been completed. A sixth file containing only the information Calleigh hoped she'd need, had been assembled. The rest of the files were put back into their respective folders and were neatly piled into one stack.

Just as casually as the project had been joined by them, so as casually, everyone turned and left for the day. Calleigh picked up the files and took them to the temporary evidence lockup cage. Horatio glanced around the lunchroom and followed her out. Everyone nodded tiredly at the entering night shift. In contrast to how tired they felt, these people all looked as bright and bushytailed as they pulled on lab coats, checked machines, and started their workday.

An hour later, on the way home, Horatio reviewed his day. Of those two kids he interviewed, both had been drilled thoroughly on what to answer to certain questions. Marky had been enough of a factor in their lives to bring out a similar response, so now to figure out what the trigger was. More, figure out who it was that had drilled them so thoroughly.

Working backward in his thoughts, he inevitably came to Sally. Just what it was about Sally that had impressed him so much? Discounting those startling eyes, there was that cool assessment she seemed to make of him. Catching him napping would, of course, give anyone pause about handing over perhaps case breaking information, so maybe that was understandable. Hmm, but then there was her attitude about her assignment at MDPD. He especially remembered her remark about not caring to know people who didn't want to 'know the local nut doctor.' Was she joking about that? Brief as their talk had been, Horatio didn't think so.

And yet, there was something about her. Considering Sally's regularly assigned work, no doubt, when he and Frank started bringing in suspects for questioning, he'd want to make use of her forensic training. He didn't even realize he'd smiled at the idea.

TBC

Any comments you have would be much appreciated at any point. Thank you


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Eric and Natalia had agreed to meet in the MDPD garage first thing in the morning. This was going to be a busy day. There was no telling how long it was going to take to interview the relatives of the two dead women or to follow up on any information they got. No doubt, by the time they returned, Ryan would have finished up finding any personal information on the two radioactive bodies he'd located so far. Then, they'd have more people to track down, to question. This was to say nothing of dealing with any physical evidence they hoped to collect from the women's homes on today's visits.

No greeting between the two was necessary, not after the history they'd shared over the previous couple of years. Both simply accepted that, since Delko had driven the day before, Natalia would take the wheel today.

Their first assignment took them west on Flagler, beyond the Florida Turnpike to the outer marsh area of the Everglades. Eventually they turned down a dirt road, long out of repair. The former home of Victoria Reeves, where her daughter still resided, had perhaps at one time been used as a hunting lodge. Like the road leading up to it, it had obviously seen better days. Apparently, it wasn't ever going to be seeing any better, at least not under the present ownership. There was no front yard to speak of, merely places that had obviously been used for parking among the vegetation. A short rutted path led to the front of the house. The quiet of the area was disturbed by the rattling hum from an ancient air condition that hung aslant out of a window on the side of the house. The broad front veranda probably hadn't been swept in several months. Leaves from many previous seasons and other bits of soggy detritus huddled in the shade against the house near the front door. The wooden porch floor and steps had been painted, once, perhaps years ago. A dirty screen door was off of the hinges and leaning against the wall next to the slightly battered front door. The sweetly dank odor of decay hung all around in the humid air. A couple of the windowpanes were broken and had newspaper taped over them.

Their knock on the door brought only a muffled, "Come in," The voice could hardly be distinguished from the sound of a television.

Hesitating only briefly, Eric pushed at the door, his other hand pulled back to a few inches from his gun.

The two weren't exactly shocked by what they saw inside. On their jobs, after what they'd seen of death, life seldom shocked them; they did swap glances that mutually said, 'it takes all kinds.' Facing them, directly across from the door, on a sagging and dilapidated couch against the wall, sat the new owner of the house.

Vicki Reeves, a late and only child of the deceased Victoria Reeves, was in her early thirties and morbidly obese. Although she didn't wheeze when she breathed, she often let out shuddering sighs, which she did as soon as she saw the two people facing her. Even though they talked as quietly, as reassuringly as they could, her voice quavered and shook throughout the entire period of the interview. A walker was parked close by.

Never once did she mention or excuse any condition she might have had in relation to the obvious difficulties. The only thing she did was to declare that though she was getting better now, her mother's illness and subsequent death had sent her into nervous fits. So much so that she had turned her mother's death affairs over to their church. She also admitted that the ladies of the Joy and Wellness Committee still helped her out now and then. They always picked her up for church services and brought her groceries, and all. It was the husband of one of these committee ladies who helped her file the wrongful death complaint, as he'd done for his own mother.

At one point, Vicki smiled weakly at Boa Vista and begged her to, 'please go get her a 'sody pop' from the 'fridge.' She'd pointed at the other half of the large room which was both living room and kitchen, combined. Then added, "The one on the left. Oh, and if you two want any, he'p yourse'f."

Natalia saw that there were indeed two refrigerators in the kitchen area. The one she opened had six twelve-packs of generic cola drink in bottom of the doublewide space. One was crudely torn open and showed two cans gone. The only other shelf of the refrigerator had two delicatessen-sized blocks of what looked to be American cheese and gigantic roll of bologna with one end showing signs of rough knife marks.

Pulling out a can Natalia looked around the kitchen. "Where are the glasses, Vicki?"

"Don't need no glass, 'less, 'course, y'all need one for yoursel'es. Those are up top in one of the cupboards. Just look, you'll find 'em."

The two again refused the offer of drink as Natalia handed the opened can to their hostess who remained seated on the sagging couch. Then Natalia asked, "I couldn't help but notice that strange jug on the counter over there. The old one? The one that's marked 'Revigorator?" She looked significantly at Eric.

After sucking greedily on the can for a moment, Vicki lowered it reluctantly to reply, "Yeah? That was for Mamma's water. I don't use it but I ain't ready to give up her stuff yet, in case you're looking to buy it."

Delko perked up and asked, "Your mother kept requesting water from her home. Is that where it came from?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't drink water. Don't like it! No flavor! But Mamma set some store by her jug water."

"Where'd she get the jug?"

Vicki ponderously heaved her shoulders. "Dunno. Was here when I moved in to be with Mamma when she started feeling poorly."

Finishing her drink, she stuck the empty can out at Natalia and smiled, "When you get me another, would you take one for yourse'f? You'll like it!"

Nodding slightly at the look Natalia gave him, Eric rose and took the can. "Here, let me get it for you." He tried not to rush over to the kitchen to look at the stoneware jug.

Twenty minutes later, stepping outside to the much warmer but fresher air, Delko called Horatio and explained the situation. "No, I didn't touch it, H."

He nodded. "Yeah, it could be the source of the radiation that killed Ms Reeves so I didn't get too close to it. One close encounter with radioactivity will do me just fine, thanks. We'll have to bring someone from HazMat out here to collect it."

He held a hand to his other ear, trying to block out the sounds of the bugs and birds in the area. "Yeah, we already explained the necessity for removal to Vicki."

He nodded again. "Okay, I'll tell her. Next, we're going to Nancy Broward's home. It's about fifteen miles south of here. We also got a name and phone for the person who helped Vicki file the wrongful death suit. Then we're going to meet the son of one the other victims that Nurse Nancy told us about."

Listening, getting a whiff of swamp, Eric wondered if perhaps part of the soggy smell in the house more than the ancient air conditioner. "William Williams is this son's name."

He smiled. "Yeah, I know. Hopefully, there's a lead someplace." Agreeing to call Horatio from Broward's home, Eric snapped the phone shut.

After informing the hazmat team of the pickup job at young Vicki Reeves home and her address, Horatio almost put his phone away. Before he could do so, it chirped in his hand. The small screen showed it was Ryan.

Adjusting his stance as he changed mental gears to another part of the case, he quietly answered, "Horatio."

He knew that, first thing in the morning, Ryan Wolfe had arranged for the exhumation of the two bodies showing radioactivity that he'd found the day before. Seeing that process started, Horatio heard that he'd finished the search on this cemetery without finding any more evidence of radioactivity.

"Yes, Mr. Wolfe, I'd say move on to the next cemetery on the list. The one you're at now had the most recent burials and the next one has only a day's variance of burial time. However, unless you find something in the second, come on in. You'll need to follow up on the two others you've found so far."

Pocketing the phone as he stood in the lab's central hallway, Horatio's attention was again diverted. His original plan of the day was to pick up Frank and see what more they could find out about Marky Samson. Eric's call, then Ryan's, had stopped him before reaching the elevator and now something new drew him out of his path again. Ordinarily, seeing Calleigh interviewing someone wasn't remarkable, but in this case, it was. Instead of her usual observant detachment, Horatio saw that she was fully engaged by the man sitting across the table from her. Both were leaning towards each other, not in a physically attracted manner, but rather as if the subject at hand was drawing them together. More interesting, the man had all the familiar earmarks of someone who had just spent the night in jail. His clothing looked slept in and his jaw looked unshaven. All of these signs were very unusual, considering that Calleigh seldom looked so unprofessional as she did now. Not sure of what was going on, Horatio found he was drawn the thirty feet or so down the hall, to stand outside the room. Even more intriguing, when Calleigh spotted Horatio, instead of letting her eyes merely pass over him to return to the interviewee, she waved at him, motioning him to join her.

"I'm glad you're here, Horatio. This is Simon Harrison who's here from Oklahoma. Simon, this is my supervisor, Lieutenant Horatio Caine. Horatio, he's a private investigator acting as a bounty hunter here in Miami."

Harrison rose to shake Horatio's hand while Calleigh explained, "He's just been telling me that one reason he got into detective work is because one ancestor of his was an Indian who was renowned for his talent at tracking and another was the first black man to join the Oklahoma City Police Department."

Simon's face showed his part Choctaw heritage in the high, broad cheekbones under unusually dark eyes. Aside from that, his ebony skin, his shiny, wavy hair, his lank arms, and thick torso showed his varied African lineages. His accent was pure Oklahoman, bringing to mind the twang sported by Will Rogers. Not bothering to rise but turning in his seat to greet the now wary redhead, the man interjected without preamble, "Well, trying to act as bounty hunter, anyway." He stuck out his hand.

To Calleigh's mystification, after briefly taking Simon's hand, her boss stood back with hands on his hips. When she'd finished the introduction he pronounced, "You may have some trouble retrieving an unregistered gun, you know."

"Aw! It was registered alright, just not with the county I'm currently in. I'll be picking it up before I leave the building. You see, I recently moved to Ponca City from Oklahoma City. That's a different county…"

"So, you are licensed to work as a private investigator?" Years of hearing lame excuses sometimes made Horatio impatient.

The black man dipped his head in embarrassment, "I got so het up about getting here, I forgot to pack the actual license. I had my badge, but that's what got me into trouble in the first place." He looked at Calleigh for help but saw only vacant wonder on her face so he finished, trailing off with, "That was straightened out too."

Continuing his 'policeman's attitude' stance, Horatio found he was enjoying the game. "May I see the badge please?"

Reaching into his outside jacket pocket, Simon pulled out a wad of hastily folded release forms. Clumsily holding them all in one hand, muttering quietly, he went through the sheets until he found, buried within, a small shield. With an air of importance, he held it, face out, showing it to his interrogator.

In spite of years of practice at maintaining a professional deadpan, Horatio's eye's crinkled; his cheeks dimpling, he almost laughed. Taking the shield, he walked over to Calleigh's side of the table and showed it to her. Cupped in his hand was plastic thing that read U.S. in large letters on the front. Around the edge, it read, US Special Police Force. Most noticeable to the two was that it vaguely resembled a Federal Agent badge.

Suddenly Calleigh's face changed from wide-eyed wonder at Horatio to wide-eyed questioning at Simon. "You've been using this as your ID in your profession?"

It took Simon five minutes to explain how he'd never been sure he was going to make a 'go' of being a PI, how it had always been a hand-to-mouth existence. He'd gotten the badge originally from a costume shop at Halloween from when he'd dressed as Wil Smith from the 'Men in Black' movie. After getting out of the Air Force where he'd been in the Air Police, an AP, it just seemed natural to take up some sort of security or police work. For the first six months, he hadn't even known he'd had to be licensed to do the work at all. Then he'd gotten a gun after a 'tussle' with an unhappy cheating husband he'd been following. By the time the private investigator finished, it was fairly obvious that a large part of the reason he'd made only a meager living was that he simply had no head for the business end of the profession. He ended with, "But you know what? I like what I do. I like finding out when a guy is doing something wrong and taking him in to the law."

Calleigh, feeling the need to take charge of the situation again, answered, "We like doing that too, Simon. Don't we Horatio?"

Handing the badge across the table, Horatio said, "Indeed we do, Calleigh."

Simon had no idea how rare it was to have both criminalists beaming at the same time.

"Which brings us to why he's here in Miami, Horatio! In a way, his twenty-four hours in lockup was serendipitous. While there, he overheard an officer on the phone talking about an assignment to accompany a CSI to a cemetery."

"I believe that might have been Officer Bradley talking with Ryan." Horatio's voice had dropped to a comfortable whispering quality he only used with friends.

"Apparently there was some mention of the expansion of the overdose victims case. Correct?"

Simon chimed in, "I'd noticed, when I'd come in to register my intent to act as a bounty hunter in Miami-Dade County, that this was also the building that housed your labs. When I heard that stuff about overdose with CSI, I knew I had to talk to you guys, 'cause that's why I'm here in Miami."

Horatio, had been leaning against a frame of one of the windows. Behind him was the greenery of the park-like surrounds of the building and a busy walkway. He'd occasionally glanced out while listening to Simon. Now, he was on full alert. He stood up straight. "Oh?"

Letting Calleigh continue with Simon and his information, Horatio had made two phone calls on his way down to the Hummer. First, he'd talked with Mrs. Samson who agreed to meet him at her job. Then he called Frank who was out in the field wrapping up an investigation. It turned out Frank was closer to Mrs. Samson than he was. They agreed to meet outside of her office.

Frank beat Horatio to the parking lot at the side of the storefront office only by about ten minutes. The painted sign on the side of the cinderblock building read, 'R&L Mortgage' in black outlined in brilliant green.

Heading to the front with Horatio, Frank quipped, "Wanna bet she's not busy? I'm surprised any of these places are still in business."

Before he opened the glass-front door, Horatio answered, "Mortgage companies don't just handle loans, Frank."

Lucy's practiced smile faded when she recognized who it was. She was sitting alone at a clean desk. The room was furnished with two empty desks besides hers, and a small area in front with a couch and two chairs. The only illumination for the room came from the large window front. The overhead lights were turned off.

A man appeared at the doorway to an inner office.

Lucy called out with no small amount of pity in her voice, "These men are here to talk to me, Jake."

The man seemed to wilt and turned without saying a word. They saw him sit at a desk piled haphazardly with papers and folders. Horatio thought he looked like the poster boy for an advertisement of desperation.

Ten minutes of coaxing Lucy to remember more of her boy's activities brought her to recall the mention of 'the Sarge.' "I never paid no attention to Marky's ramblings." She lowered her head with the smallest hint of a smile. "That boy could talk! Used to think bad of myself for not having paid attention but after years of talking with other parents of dead kids, I found out none of us did."

The two men listened intelligently to what they'd heard hundreds of times before.

"He was sixteen! If I hadn't done my job by then, it couldn't get done!"

Trying to redirect her thoughts, the redhead leaned toward her, putting his elbows on his knees, and stared into her welling eyes. "Was this 'Sarge' someone from school, do you think? Anything you can remember about this person or anything at all about his behavior, perhaps would be a help."

Her tears drying, hiding a grin behind pursed lips, Ms Samson recognized what the handsome gentleman in front of her was trying to do. Obviously enjoying those pretty blues in that freckly-pale face, the bereaved mother said, "I just don't know, Lieutenant Caine…wait! You know what? About then, he was also, like, practicing good behavior on me, saying ma'am to me and sometimes even stood at attention when I was trying to tell him about how full the trash should be to get dumped. Silly stuff. He'd say he was practicing discipline. Course, then, five minutes later, he was bouncing that ball of his against the wall in his bedroom, driving the next-door neighbors crazy."

Ten minutes later, she'd declared for the fifth time that there was nothing more she could remember. She assured them she'd call if she could think of anything. Thanking her, the two men left the deadly quiet office.

Outside, looking over the top of his car, Frank said, "Back to the Youth center?" To Horatio's nodded acknowledgment, he double knocked his knuckles against the roof and folded his body into the car.

Basket's eyes wandered over the top of the kids playing the indoor court. Outside, another of the increasing afternoon rain showers was thundering its quick way across that section of the city. Standing on the second tier of the wooden pullout seating, he shook his head "Nope, don't think there was anyone ever named Sarge back then. Lots of Sergios, of course, but no Sarge comes to mind." He went on to say that, on occasion a volunteer would try to get strict with the boys, maybe yell like a drill sergeant, but that only drove the kids away. When that happened, he said the guy would quit coming. Of course, volunteers came and went, all the time, anyway. Most didn't last more than a month, tops.

The entire time, Basket constantly interrupted himself with quick answers to kids that ran up and back like yo-yos, or with quick blasts on his whistle, a raised hand, and a stern word. "Only one that went for any length of time was a custodian a few years back. Worked all day cleaning up after these rug rats and then stayed on for an hour or so afterwards. I think he just liked playing basketball. He moved on though; haven't seen him since. Don't blame him; it's a wonder I've lasted twenty years! It sure ain't because of the pay!"

Having thanked the coach, the men were glad to get out of the noisy building. Frank dug the tip of his pinky finger into one ear as he remarked, "Lasted twenty years? That man lives for those kids!"

Horatio opened the door to the Hummer and held it while he said, "He lives for them to the exclusion of everyone else around, Frank. There's something really crucial he isn't remembering. However, I think we've followed this one into the ground for now."

"Two strikes out of two. Hey! How about we go back and I buy you some bad coffee in the MDPD break room?" He winked quickly. "That stuff will show you how good the day's been."

Knowing he had business to attend to in that department anyway, Horatio agreed to the offer.

Later, before entering the Department Psychologist's door, Horatio briefly wondered what Stetler would think if he'd seen him doing this. Realizing he didn't care what the Internal Affairs Bureau snoop thought, he forgot about it and walked in.

Not quite getting inside, he was greeted with a sharp look he usually only encountered from suspects pretending to be insulted they were being accused of a crime. Sally was standing behind the small desk opposite the door, a cell phone to her ear. The desk chair had been shoved to one side. Several folders were opened on the desk under the glare of a small desk lamp. The folder in front of her had several sheets fanned out from it and she had her finger in the middle of one. She'd stopped talking, her pale eyes wide with consternation.

Today, dressed in another a-line skirt, this one in denim, she also wore a scoop neck, short-sleeved jersey shirt. The pale blue of the shirt did nothing for her coloring. "Hold on a sec, Jimmy." Not saying more, she added to the pointed look by raising one eyebrow.

Not used to 'attitude' from a coworker, Horatio wasn't sure what to say next. At her continued silence, he decided not to make it a standoff. "I thought, since the door was open…"

She glanced resolutely down at the desk before glaring back up at him. Her brows became almost as straight as the very determined line of her mouth.

Taking the hint, Horatio gave her a half smile and said, "Call me when you have a moment."

As he stepped into the hallway, he would have laughed out loud if he'd encountered Stetler.

TBC

Please leave a comment or two or three. I'd love to hear from you.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Before Horatio could even get to the MDPD lounge from Sally's office, Frank met him in the hallway. "Horatio the place is dry! Seems the guy who's supposed to buy the coffee supplies this month is home with an on-duty injury. Someone is out making an emergency run to the store. Thing is, who the hell knows when he'll be back."

Horatio was almost relieved at not having to put up with the bitter brew Miami's finest called coffee. "Always available upstairs, Frank. Let's go." He led the way to the elevator.

Forty minutes later, after having sorted through what the they'd seen that day, comparing notes of observations, Horatio and Frank finally agreed they'd hit a dead end on Marky's murder. Baskins was either blind to anything he might have seen or was very good at hiding anything he'd known. Ms Samson may have forgotten something; if something jogged her memory; they could hope she'd call. They also agreed that those kids all had to have something in common; they'd been carefully rehearsed and for a reason. Beyond that, there wasn't anything they could prove or go further with.

"I'm not going to give up yet. I was hoping Brandt would have a thought on what we might have missed." The tones of Horatio's voice were as warm as his coffee.

Frank didn't say that he would have been glad not to have to talk to the weird looking woman. Psychs were weird anyway. Instead, he just commented, "You say she was busy?"

Horatio silently nodded, not knowing how else to describe his dismissal. "I'll talk to her on Monday."

Horatio turned to another topic. "By the way, will we be seeing you at the charity affair tomorrow night?"

The big man's hands rose to hitch up his slacks. "Unless you can see over to where I live from where it's held at the Florida University Great Hall, I doubt it." His face had the look that silently included the words, 'and I don't give a flying fuck who ordered everyone's attendance.'

Horatio tucked his chin down and examined his still steaming second cup. If he'd looked at Frank, his eyes would have agreed with the police detective's soundless speech. Not that he minded attending the many charity functions the department heads deemed 'important'. This one was a semi-annual money-raising event for mentally challenged young men and women. It was an interest near and dear to his heart, but dammit! he was tired and so was the rest of his team, all of who were being required to attend.

Frank slurped a sip of his cooled cup and made a face. "Well, we seem to be done here. I just hope the rest of the mess will hold until Monday. I'm going home. I'm going to see if I can't relax. I just got a six-disc CD set of Willy Nelson. I figure about four times of that this weekend should just about do it."

Horatio almost volunteered his company. He loved Nelson's smooth sound, his clear delivery of plane, good old music. Not raising his head, he said quietly, "I think the weekend crew will probably be able to handle anything that comes up. Goodnight, Frank." This thought of his, more like an ardent hope, followed Frank out the door.

In the hallway, hunching over to take another slurp from his cup, Frank was surprised to hear a familiar drawl wrap around his name.

"Frank? Can I talk to you a sec?" Calleigh was standing a few feet down from the entry into the break room, in a doorway.

"Sure, Cal. What's up?"

For the first time since he'd known her, Frank saw Calleigh look uncertain, hesitant. She glanced into the room behind her at the lab tech who examining a printout. Finally, she smiled up at him and motioned him to follow her. Walking just a few feet to a small alcove that was probably meant for a snack machine that had never made it into the budget, she turned to face him.

"Frank, I need to ask you a really big, big favor. You're my last hope."

Shrugging slightly, Frank answered, "Sure. Name it."

"I couldn't help but overhear your comment to Horatio in there about not going to the Fantasy Follies tomorrow night but…"

Suddenly his implication that he'd do whatever she asked didn't seem like such a good idea. "Calleigh, please." He was going to back off but her pleading look stopped him.

Raising her hand in a gesture of taking an oath, Calleigh burst out, "Frank, the guy who was going to be my date got called out of town at the last moment, and I just don't have anyone else to go with. I'd go alone but I already have the gown and the shoes bought and paid for and I can't drive my four-on-the-floor in them. I really, really want to go to this thing. They're having an auction and one of the things is a set of Gucci bags for men including the type of briefcase my father likes to use. This auction is the only way I'll be able to afford anything like it. Please Frank?" She smiled apologetically and angelically at the same time.

Immune to most women's cajoleries after two failed marriages, Frank was not impervious to Calleigh's smiles. He didn't care if the real reason she wanted to go was simply to piss off an old boyfriend, he couldn't refuse in the face of that bright glow that was Calleigh at full charm.

"I don't have a monkey suit," he said defensively.

Turning up the wattage in her pleasure, Calleigh looked up without raising her chin, bathing him with her gaze. "I've seen you occasionally wear a silver-sand colored suit with a lemon tie that looks pretty good on you. I think that'll pass muster."

Frank nodded, remembering he'd recently had it cleaned. Sighing, looking around to make sure no one was listening in, he said, "Pick you up at 7:30?"

Sticking out her hand, the blond who was fifteen inches shorter than the police detective, said, "You got a date."

Date or deal, Frank did not regret the bargain.

Horatio had found a clump of greenery in the corner of the large hall. It was meant to soften the angular corners where the Gala was being staged. Usually preferring to lean as he casually observed life, he avoided doing so in this case. The case being that he was wearing his one formal suit, a navy blue that was so dark it looked black. He'd bought it in more plush days, before taking on the support of Suzie and little Madison, before Madison's illness, before Marisol.

He'd actually paid a designer who'd not only cut him a suit perfectly tailored to his measurements, but one who'd taken into account that navy blue would compliment his red hair, his ever changing blue eyes and his naturally pale complexion. 'Most people,' the man had archly announced, 'can't tell the difference between black and navy blue. They will never know why you will look so much more deliciously attractive than Joe-Blow-Redhead dressed in the black tux, they'll just know you do.'

Since it hadn't made a penny's worth of difference in the price, he'd let the man have his way. Besides, it wasn't the color that counted as much as being comfortable in formal wear. And comfortable he was. The diamond cufflinks for the white, pleat-front shirt that peaked demurely from the jacket sleeves, and the powder blue tie and cummerbund, added elegance, while not detracting from the ease he felt. It also allowed him to enjoy people-watching. The pastime was not only part of Horatio Caine's job, it was what he loved to do. Partially hidden by the greenery, in the dimly illuminated area, he seemed merely to be taking a moment from the busy party atmosphere. He'd have preferred the moment to last the entire evening. As it was, he would engage in his passion until he was found.

His position in the corner also gave him a great view of the entrance. So far, he'd seen most of his colleagues come in. He'd also seen this year's hosts make their grand entrances, dressed in the costumes to compliment the decorations. The hosts, the gala's organizers, were there primarily to entertain the guests of honor, the young adults who suffered mental challenges, either from birth or from injury. This foundation had been established for them and held two events a year, this, an auction/dinner-dance and in six months a fun-walk/run-barbecue. This year, the theme of the event was Fairy Forest and the costumes were along the lines of Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. Many had come dressed in semi-Grecian togas as Oberon or Titania, or as one of the four lovers in the merry mix-up. Some were more daring and came as the one of the fairy characters or even as Bottom with his Donkey ears. These hosts, in small groups, were acting as chaperones for the special guests, introducing them to this year's benefactors and helping them to join in the festivities.

Just about the time Horatio was wishing he had more free time in his life so he too could do as much for these people, his attention was fully arrested by an incredible sight. With the hair, the eyes, the svelte figure clad in a glittering motley colored blue/green/black body suit draped in bits of similarly colored diaphanous material; Sally Brandt was the perfect Puck. To the great delight of all of the special guests who seemed to know her, she swept from group to group, greeting them, whispering to a few. Several times, she hugged, stepped back to display her outfit, and whirled. If there had been a spotlight on her, she couldn't have been more attention worthy.

Transfixed by what he saw, Horatio was drawn out from his cover. Before she'd entered, he was about to take a sip from the large glass holding a small bit of very good Scotch. Now it was held halfway up, frozen on its way to his lips, unheeded, his blue eyes wide in amazed fascination.

When their eyes met, Sally froze for about a tenth of a second. She was turning to greet a call behind her, not sure where it had come from. Blanching, she gave Horatio a bit of a smirk before finishing her turn. Spotting the woman who was trying to get her attention, Sally put up a finger to her, then broke from the group.

The two met halfway in the one area where there was some space.

Seeing Horatio wasn't going to say anything but look at her quizzically, Sally jibed, "So, are you a personal patron of our little band here, or is this just fulfilling a requisite appearance for an MDPD supported function?"

"Both, actually." Horatio remembered to lower his glass.

Hearing another call from behind her, Sally said quickly, "Good! That's nice to know. Let's see if we can talk later. Okay?"

Before he could answer, she was gone. He couldn't help but notice the outfit did nothing to hide the fantastic shape of her rear end.

Horatio was glad to have a mission for the rest of the evening; to find out what connection Sally had to this charity. The idea, however, was aborted practically before it was born by the sight of the next guests to enter.

Calleigh Duquesne could in no way ever look bad. Horatio remembered that she was attractive even after having been dunked in the swamps that time she'd been pushed off the road in the Hummer. So, when Calleigh put on the dog, really dressed up, she always succeeded beyond anyone's wildest hopes. As usual, when she first entered the hall, she was surrounded by a small swell of admiring silence.

The silence is what drew Horatio's attention, but Calleigh's escort is what stunned him to slack jawed stupefaction. Perhaps Sally's appearance had laid the ground that weakened the structure, so to speak. Without the previous shake to his credulity, he may just as well have been simply surprised, recovered, and greeted Calleigh and Tripp. As it was, however, he didn't move or speak until they came to him, happy to see a familiar face so quickly.

"Hey, Horatio." Calleigh's voice gently entwined the syllables.

"Calleigh needed someone to drive her." Tripp said quickly.

Horatio knew a response was required to the greetings but he was damned if he knew what to say. Finally, the only thing that came to mind was, "Well, I'm glad you could make it." He turned his eyes back to the crowd, wondering what the hell next would pop out. For the first time in his memory, Horatio wished the Mayor or some department-lord-high-muckety-muck would come in and require his presence in the entourage. He was ready for anything that could be regarded as mundane, boring.

Calleigh, of course caught the exaggerated lack of response. She'd figured being with Tripp would cause a bit of comment but this was not typical of Horatio at all. "Is something wrong, Horatio? You seem distracted."

The adjustment was immediate; all it had taken was a reminder from Calleigh. Horatio had an amazing ability to compartmentalize ideas and reactions to events, separating each according to its own relevance. He did this now, putting his reaction to Sally into one section and closing it off, seeing this unlikely pairing in an entirely new light.

Shaking his head only slightly, he smiled and said, "Umm, no, there's nothing wrong. I, uh, think I was distracted by your lovely dress, Calleigh."

Glad to be on familiar ground, she explained she'd picked up her form fitting strapless outfit for a song at one of those shops that sold previously worn designer outfits. Previously worn, she was quick to point out, by celebrities. The color was a deep lavender, the bodice was gently draped about her full bosom and showed just the merest bit of white gauze gathered at the top. "It's a bit long but rather than fix that, I just bought these platform heels." The hem of the gown in front rose to an off center slit and trailed to a slight train in the back. All Calleigh did to show off her shoes was place one small foot slightly forward to reveal a pale pink peep-toe sandal with spaghetti straps on a two-inch platform. To finish the effect, she'd worn the front part of her hair pinned up and back, which revealed her simple diamond drop earrings.

Acknowledging her patient escort, she concluded, "Even Tripp dressed up. Take a look at his fancy boots."

Knowing the large man wasn't going to lift his pant legs to show the stitching, Horatio only glanced down taking note of the fine brown of the typically boot cut of the part of what he could see. He nodded, showing his recognition of the Texan's effort to be formal.

A few seconds of silence later, Calleigh's burden of carrying the conversation was lifted at the hail from Alexx. "There you are! We've made three circuits of this place trying to find someone we know." Her husband looked as happy to find someone familiar as Horatio felt to have more company.

Later, seeing Delko come in with Valera seemed practically normal to Horatio. It was no surprise at all that Wolfe was alone or, as usual, looking slightly distracted. He paired up with Delko and Valera almost immediately, but didn't stop looking at odds with the duty of having to be there.

Horatio never did have the chance to gather any more information about Sally's connection to the Fantasy Foundation. Even though he saw her throughout the evening, the two never connected. Either she was talking with other hosts or soothing an overexcited special guest, or he was occupied by the political necessities of acting like he cared what the Mayor said.

Besides a few conversations with his teammates, he did manage a few dances. Although only one was with Calleigh, he was given Mr. Woods' blessing for three with Alexx. He also was able to do a couple numbers with acquaintances, women who had long been trying to catch more than just his attention.

Finally, climbing into his red TR-4 about midnight, he'd considered that he'd executed his duty quite well that night. No one had had the slightest idea that a pair of ice blue eyes and small, perfect Cupid's bow lips had occupied his mind the entire time.

A little after one in the morning, sitting in Tripp's truck in front of her condo, Calleigh remarked, "I am still blown away by how well you dance, Tripp." The conversation between them had been almost continuous the whole evening.

"It's the only asset I've got left after two failed marriages." Tripp still could not take his eyes from her.

After an hour of conversation, Tripp didn't walk Calleigh to her door for yet another hour. The pair was socially engaged, to be sure, but talking was not a part of the activity. Finally, saying goodnight, the two promised to talk the next day, Sunday, which they did, on the phone, for several hours.

TBC

Comments anyone?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Simon's voice rang against the glass in the lab. "So, where is he? Did you bring him in, yet? Is he in holding?"

He was at the door to Calleigh's gun lab. He was, of course, referring to his prey, Danny Donnelly.

Although she'd been deeply involved in the analysis of bullet markings from another case, Calleigh's mind easily made the transition to this case. Leaving the comparison microscope, she met Simon out in the broad hallway. Seating herself beside him on a bench, she answered his questions as earnestly as he'd asked. "We didn't bring him in, Simon because no such person by that name works anywhere in Dade County; never did." Seeing his face fall, she put her hand on his arm. "The thing is, our victims were killed in exactly the same way, overdoses of a cocktail of painkillers. So, I have no doubt your man, and our killer is one and the same." She felt safe in revealing this information to Simon since Donnelly was in the wind.

"So, he's using an alias here."

"That's right."

"What now?"

"Did you happen to bring a picture of Donnelly with you?" Calleigh asked hopefully.

His forlorn look told her he hadn't.

"Okay, not to worry. On the off chance you hadn't, I called the Ponca City Police Department a little bit ago and asked them to fax us a photo." She'd already figured Simon had no photo. Maybe he liked being a private investigator, but his sense of organization left much to be desired. She'd actually called Ponca City on Friday afternoon after a fruitless search for a Nurse Donnelly. Turning her smile up a notch, she assured, "As soon as it comes in, I'm going to head off to the nursing home where the majority of our victims died."

"Where is that?" Harrison asked.

Wanting to shake her head at his attempt to gain information, she said, quite plainly, in her most folksy voice, "Aw, you know I can't tell you that." She clapped him on his forearm.

At his slightly forlorn look, Calleigh went on, "Look, if it turns out that we can find him and if he's the man we're both looking for, you'll get full credit. Alright? Until then, just sit tight! Give me some time to go by the numbers. Meanwhile, take advantage of your trip to Miami, go see the sights!"

"Gosh, I'd wish you'd let me help. I'll do anything you ask." Seeing nothing but a sweet smile, he rose. "Well, I guess I can visit my aunt's old uncle again. I went to see him once already. I used to see him when he'd visit my aunt on holidays, and such. That place in Opa-Locka, where he's at now, is a hoot."

"One of those retirement communities? I think I know the one." While she'd talked, she'd gently led the man to the elevator. Assuring him she'd leave a message at his motel as soon as she knew anything, just anything at all, she waved as the elevator doors closed shut. His final words had been a plea to at least be allowed to help by standing by the fax machine to pick up the picture while she continued with other work, which she diplomatically ignored.

No sooner had the doors closed than she turned on her high-heeled boots and strode to her office area. Maybe she wasn't going to go out immediately, but she was going to make sure that if Simon sneaked up the back stairs and found her fax machine, he wasn't going to find what he wanted. If nothing else, Simon was resourceful. Find the expected picture in the tray, she took it with her, back to the bullet identification lab.

With two field calls under his belt before he arrived at the lab that Monday morning, Horatio then paid a courtesy visit to the department chief. Here he received the thanks for the team's appearance at the Gala on Saturday. Both ignored the fact that Natalia had not attended. He knew she'd checked in this morning so nothing was amiss. Horatio decided to simply ignore the unspoken question and later, when the time was right, let Boa Vista know that, as part of the department's most elite team, there were certain polite requests none of them could ignore. Later, the chitchat with the brass done with, Horatio made the rounds of the lab.

He found Ryan, sitting at a lab table, just closing his phone. Instead of vials or bits of evidence in front of him, he had his notebook laid out. He displayed relief when he saw his supervisor.

"Horatio, I just got off the phone with the cemetery where I found those two other radioactive bodies. According to their records, neither came from any nursing home or retirement facility. One had been staying with his family in his last days. I was about to call them. The other though is very interesting."

"How so?"

Ryan had found he hadn't like being a news reporter during his suspension from the force, that he was an officer of the law at heart. Still, he liked a bit of drama now and then, especially when revealing remarkable discoveries. "Well, the second one was a young male, only thirty-two. However, he did live right on the Everglades as the rest of the victims did."

"Very interesting, indeed, Mr. Wolfe. Any relatives listed?"

"No. That's the other thing. The person who took care of the arrangements seemed to have been a friend. I've got an address, at a trailer park, but no phone." He pointed at his notes. "I mean, there was a phone listed, but it's not working now. From the number listed, I believe the phone was probably a throwaway."

"Curioser and curioser."

"Once I get this out of the way, calling the family of the first guy, and before I run down that trailer park address, I'll get prints from that jug that the hazmat team brought in."

"Be sure to protect yourself."

Pointing his forefinger at Horatio, his thumb cocked over it, Ryan agreed, "Nose to toes. I'm even going to wear lead lined boots."

"When you're ready to go in, call me, please. I'll be your observer." Horatio was referring to the practice of never allowing anyone to work around hazardous material without someone on hand to watch. It was too easy for a person to be so careful of what he was doing, he made mistakes that could spell personal disaster. "I'll be around," he concluded.

Leaving Wolfe to finish his calls, Horatio headed to the elevator.

* * *

Driving down the highway, Delko said, without trying to sound too terribly interested, "So, we missed you at the benefit on Saturday."

Even though she really wanted to catch Eric's reaction, Boa Vista kept her eyes on the road. "Who'd you go with?"

Knowing the game of not divulging information, he countered with, "I expected you to come with Ryan."

"Ryan and I are old news, so old."

"So-o-o-o, does that mean you have any new news?" Eric hid his smile by turning to look out the Hummer's window.

Making a face that showed she was making a choice, Natalia sighed and said, "It was my sister's twenty-first birthday. Okay? That's why I didn't go."

Delko maintained his silence. He didn't really feel like going into how he'd hooked up with Valera right now. The conversation for the rest of the trip turned to how to handle this last interview on their list.

Because of Friday's events, they hadn't been able to talk to everyone they'd hoped to get to. After they'd left Vicki Reeves' home, they'd gone to see Nancy Broward's grown son. Their conversation with Oliver Broward had upset Delko in the extreme. Broward had said he'd been estranged from his mother for over ten years and acted as if even hearing of her death had been an annoyance. As family oriented as Delko was, this was hard for him to listen to and bothered him more than he let on.

It turned out that neither Oliver nor anyone else had done anything about the contents of Nancy's house so the CSI's got a search warrant to allow them to enter. On arrival at the abandoned home located at the end of a graveled road, they found they weren't the first to enter since the owner died. Several windows were broken out and the house had been thoroughly ransacked. Nothing much was left except a few pieces of broken furniture. If a Revigorator jug had ever been there, it was gone now. That episode had taken up the rest of their day so they'd rescheduled the two interviews they hadn't been able to get to for today.

Their first interview this morning was with Roy Mishka, who had helped Vicki file the wrongful death suit. Talking with him, they'd discovered that he'd also known Nancy Broward. She had belonged to the same church as he and Victoria. The church had a large congregation so though Nancy and Victoria knew of each other, they were not friends. Also, the two lived in opposite directions from the church, along a line running along the edge of the Everglades. He hadn't found out about Ms Broward until after the law suit had been filed, so they'd amended it.

Roy, a legal aide, had filed the suit after his mother had died suddenly at the nursing home. Since she was sixty-six and had broken her hip, he didn't think too much of it until the day he was taking care of business with the nursing facility. He was signing papers and paying her final bills when he met two other grieving families whose parents had also died in the previous month. This set off bells in his mind and after very little investigation, found there were four other deaths at the same facility, including Victoria Reeves. So, he convinced his employer in Miami Shores to start a class action wrongful death suit. Roy's wife, as part of the 'Care Committee', a group who visited members of the church who were ill, had known both Nancy and Victoria, though she'd made no connection in their deaths. To show he wasn't just angry with the place where his mother had been, the law firm also decided to file suit against the hospital where Nancy had died.

Natalia and Eric found Roy knew nothing more about the case. He was disappointed when they told him that the medical examiner had determined that Victoria and Nancy had not died of drug overdose, as his mother and the four others had. It weakened that case a little and completely exonerated the hospital where Nancy had been. They skillfully dodged further inquiries as to cause of death for the two women, saying the matter was still under investigation.

When they finished with Roy, as they headed to the next interview, Eric and Natalia speculated as to whether the nursing home could still be charged with neglect on Victoria's death. Their only treatment for her radiation poisoning had been the equivalent of antacid tablets.

"I can't believe people do this to their relatives!" Delko's knuckles turned white as his hands gripped the steering wheel. "Why do they do it?"

"Jeez! Eric! Calm down! What's with you? It's not like Vicki Reeves had a choice about what to do with her mother!"

Behind the wheel, Delko inhaled raggedly as he conscientiously checked the rearview and side mirrors. He also slowed the Hummer, thus backing off of the little gray Nissan he was tailgating. Explosively exhaling and taking another, calmer breather he lowered his voice. "I know. Sometimes, it's nice that these nursing homes exist for people who otherwise wouldn't be cared for… It's just that this place fell down on the job!"

"You're really bothered by this, aren't you?"

Sitting back from the hunched position over the steering wheel, Delko slowly raised and lowered his chin to settle himself further. "Yeah—no!" He sighed. "I don't know if it's this or that damn bullet in my head talking to me! Yeah, I know I'm bothered by the way Broward talked about his mother the other day. I'm also bothered about the way that home could be responsible for the deaths of those old people. I don't know if that's what's getting to me though."

Natalia maintained her silence.

Glancing over at her, Delko gave a lopsided grin. "Okay, I'm done now. I'll be alright." He found the road he was looking for and turned the wheel. The tires crunched noisily on the bed of the layers of crushed oyster shells laid over the dirt road.

There are trailer parks and then there are trailer parks. Some are merely collections of travel trailers, recreational vehicles and campers permanently parked in one place. Many are motley collections of mobile homes on open lots, in varying states of poor maintenance which quickly brings to mind the term 'trailer-trash'. Then there are the evenly spaced, fenced, and landscaped lots on which mobile homes have been permanently installed. These last are more like small villages with tree lined paved roads that carry names like Starling Drive and Tranquility Lane and clubhouses with snack bars or even small convenience stores. It was into such a park that the Hummer had now entered. Finding the address they sought, the two climbed the three stairs to the covered patio at the front and knocked.

Cordially greeting the two CSI's, William Coral Williams first begged them to call him Coral. "I'm not too fond of that name either but it's better than being called William Williams. I loved my mother but she didn't show a lick of sense when she named me."

The two seated on the couch glanced at each other.

"Is this where your mother and sister lived with you?" Natalia's eyes were trying to adjust to the gloom of the heavily curtained interior of the double wide mobile home.

Laying back in his recliner, staring at the ceiling, the fifty-something Coral spoke in quick sprays of sentences. "Yeah, only I never lived here my mom and her twin, my Aunt Soleil. They were named for opposites, Lunette and Soleil, sun and moon, but were as alike as could be. Well, except that my mom got preggers with me when the two of them had a fling with a couple of guys, that one time. Soleil was always mad but I never could figger if it was over not getting pregnant or that Mom didn't get an abortion."

"Nice place." Ignoring Williams' comment, Delko nodded, trying not to look like he was looking around.

"Yeah, my grandparents had this place and gave it my Mom and aunt. Gramps and Nana retired down in Key West. Before that, Mom and Auntie used to live in a crappy little apartment down near the Little Haiti area. Mom got welfare because of me plus what the two of them got because both were slight retards; social security, you know. They could do for themselves and all, but could never hold down much in the way of jobs. They'd work sometimes for Deseret and Goodwill but only when I was in school. You see, they couldn't stand to be separated from each other so it didn't occur to them that one could take care of me while the other worked. I sure got a lot of mothering, let me tell you." He didn't sound too happy about that.

"Did you live here with them?" Natalia encouraged.

"Nah! They didn't get this place until about fifteen years ago. I'd moved out as soon as I was eighteen! They didn't like that because they thought if I stayed Mom would still get welfare for me. I couldn't get them to understand that the welfare for me stopped when I was eighteen, period, whether I stayed or not. I think Nana finally got them to understand though because they started calling me after a while, all social-like, and all, wanting me to come visit. I just wanted my independence from all that mothering! And talk! Gosh, those two could string out a conversation for the longest darn time! Still, I'd visit a lot, to make sure they were getting along okay, give them money every once in a while. Nana and Gramps did, too. I'd spend a few hours to listen to the two magpies go on and on. They were sure happy to get this place though. All paid for and all, even utilities! I don't think they worked once after they got in here." This last was sneered derisively.

"But you're living here now?"

"Sure, why not? I had to come and stay here anyway while they were at that hospital place. I had to take care of the place and also it's closer than my old place to that nursing home where they were. I had to go visit them almost every day. Good thing I was working graveyard then. I do phone work, like when you call one of those 800 numbers for a product you see on television? Odd how some people call at three in the morning to order some juice maker or something. I'm on dayshift now, though, but this is my day off. I work weekends 'cause then I get a bonus for selling more stuff. Weekends are good times to sell more stuff. Get lots of calls, especially on Sunday afternoon when people are bored. Some people don't like watching sports and so sometimes there's nothing but sports or these commercial shows—"

Delko interrupted by asking, "So, when you moved in, what did you do with your mom's and aunt's belongings? Do you still have them?"

Coral's head jerked up as he looked at Delko, a puzzled expression on his pale face. "Do?" For once, he didn't seem to have a store of words welling up.

Delko explained the purpose for their visit again. "We'd like to take a look at the belongings to see if we can find the source of what made your mother and your aunt so sick. Do you remember if maybe there was a brown and tan jug with the word Revigorator on it?"

Coral's nose wrinkled as he made a face. "That's sure a funny word. I never heard of that word. You sure it's a word?"

Glancing helplessly over at Natalia, Eric splayed his hands wide and tried again. "What'd you do with their clothes and things? Do you maybe still have any of it?"

His features relaxing, Coral reached down to the side of the recliner and pushed the button that released the leg rest. His feet thumped down to the floor as he was forced to an upright position. "Oh! You mean where's their stuff? I got rid of that! Gosh! You should have seen this place! They had tons of junk they got from those secondhand places they worked. Yeah, I just got Gramps to hire a dumpster and I filled it up! Well, not filled but half way or more for sure. I thought it'd be more than a dumpster but it wasn't." His earnest speech tumbled from his moist lips as his dark eyes gleamed through blond lashes.

Before the man could get started again, Delko hurriedly interjected, "Do you remember what the name of the company was that owned the dumpster?"

Coral beamed as he answered. "Waste Away! It was the same name as a trash compactor I used to sell. Good name isn't it? I sold a lot of those—"

Even Natalia was losing patience with the endless patter. Her voice became a bit sharp as she spoke, "Do you remember the date the dumpster was hauled away?"

Delko knew they needed the date as well as the dumpster vendor's name. The company that owned the dumpster would have the information on what dump site the container was hauled. The site managers would tell them the approximate location where it was unloaded.

Coral put his hand to his chin and rubbed a moment before saying, "Hmm, when, well lessee, lessee." He paused as if trying to remember. "I called Nana and Gramps as soon as Aunt Soleil passed. Mom had passed the week before and I'd told them about that. They knew Soleil wasn't going to last much longer, being as how as she and my mom were so close, and all, ya know, so it was no surprise she went so quick. I don't think she was that sick, to tell you the truth but as soon as we told her Mom had passed you could just see the light go out in her eyes. But then, I knew it would happen—"

More sharply this time, Natalia interjected, "The date, Coral?"

Coral glanced up through his bushy pale eyebrows looking a bit sheepish as if he'd been caught at something he shouldn't have been doing. The rasp of his dry hands over the stubble on his chin sounded like fine grit sandpaper being rubbed on rough wood. "Yeah, the date, well, lessee. Gramps talked to me at the funeral about if I wanted to move in permanent and I allowed as how I could. He wanted someone—," he glanced up and saw the growing impatience flash on the faces of both of his guests. "Okay, so the dumpster was brought in and put in the drive out front a week later. I only had a week to load it. This is one of those parks with lots of rules and stuff. They're really touchy about how things look. Pretty hoity-toity, if you ask me." He ostentatiously raised his pinky finger as he sneered the last few words.

Eric rose to his feet. "Thank you, I think we got it. The dumpster belonged to the company named Waste Away and was hauled away two weeks after your Aunt Soleil's funeral. Right?"

Standing, Natalia followed Eric's cues and sidled quickly over to the door and opened it. The late morning light flooded in to the dark living room.

Before Coral could answer, the two nodded curtly, stepped outside, and closed the door quickly behind them. They'd left Coral sitting, looking dazed, his hand up to shield his eyes from the light.

Silent until they were pulling out of the entrance to get on to the main road outside the park, both finally looked at each other for the first time and burst out laughing.

"You didn't even give him your card in case he remembers something more and needs to call you," Natalia accused.

"We should put in for extra pay. This was information received under extremely hazardous conditions! Danger of being talked to death." Eric shook his head slowly.

The giggling between the two quickly ended when Eric put up his finger and said, "You know, of course what this means?"

Boa Vista playfully grabbed his finger and joked, "I know what this means, yeah."

Taking his finger back and putting his hand to the wheel, Delko said, "I meant the information, dopey."

Natalia's eyes rolled as she searched for the answer. "Well, the information was that Waste Away took the trash two weeks after the last funeral. We just look up that date from the information we already have and we'll know when it was taken to the dump…" Realization dawned on her face. "Oh. Oh! You mean we—?"

As an evil grin spread across Delko's face, his teeth gleamed in contrast to his perpetual shadow beard.

Two hours later, clad in hazmat suit, gloves, boots, goggles, dust mask, and armed with a Geiger counter, Natalia was experiencing her first trash dump search and wondering why she'd ever wanted to become a CSI.

TBC

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	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After leaving Wolfe to his phone calls that Monday morning, Horatio continued the rounds of his team. His next stop was to talk to Calleigh. She handed him information on the bullets from the convenience store robbery. The proud smile she gave as she did this always gave him the feeling he was her teacher receiving her latest work for some school class. One of these days, he was going to bring a marking pen and scrawl a large A on it and hand it back to her. He knew she'd get the joke. Meanwhile, she told him how far she'd gotten on finding more information about the nurse that Simon had mentioned. Hearing how he'd missed Simon's visit that morning and that she had the photo of the nurse firmly in her possession, Horatio gave her a smile. She concluded with saying that her next step was to go back to the Everglades Rest Home to show the photo and see if anyone recognized him.

"Would you like me to come with you when you go to the nursing home?"

He could see her considering what could possibly happen at the home that she'd require help with. "Not unless you're just dying for a road trip. I have a feeling that this is our man, and he's gone." She flicked a finger at the photo beside the bullet comparison microscope. "If this is him, he's followed the same pattern as before. He killed as many people as he could until someone got suspicious."

"So, you think he might have changed his identity?"

Calleigh's gentle Southern accent faded away. "I think so. I have a feeling we're dealing with a guy who came to Miami for more than just the sunshine. I'm thinking he knew about the document mills here that serve the illegal immigrant population. I'm also thinking he's a psychopath that's one smart cookie. He's planning to go on playing Angel of Death. The best way to do it is to have a stack of different IDs."

"You think he's also upping the ante." Horatio's whispering deep voice dropped as his awareness increased as to what this dangerous killer might be up to.

"I think there's every possibility he needs to increase the rate of kills. Killers don't kill less as time goes on."

"When do you intend to go and verify if this is the man?" He nodded at the picture of the dark haired man staring out of the photo.

Calleigh was removing her lab jacket as she spoke. "Now, since I've given you the report on the bullets. I'll call for a couple of uniforms to come with me. If we're lucky, I'll bring him back in a couple of hours. If not, I'll at least know whether he's the man and what name he's been using."

"I think I'll take some of this information down to Sally Brandt. She might have some thoughts on what this man could be capable of."

She nodded thoughtfully and said, "Anything would help."

The two walked to the elevator together. Riding down, Horatio casually asked about Calleigh's father. As he got off on the first floor, she'd just finished telling him about her dad's latest success in getting another child away from an abusive parent. Calling out just as the doors closed at his departing back, she said, "When I get back, I'll find you." Hearing words he'd used so often tossed casually at him, Horatio couldn't help but smile. He knew he didn't have to turn around to show her.

Horatio didn't mean to pause outside the door to the psychologist's office, but he did for a split second. Microscopically observant, even of his own actions, he almost smiled, and shook his head. No wonder he thought twice about going in. He'd known this woman for all of four days and each of the three encounters had left him bewildered in one way or another. He couldn't help but be unsure what would confront him next.

This time, he found Sally sitting quietly at the desk facing the door. Laying a finger on what she'd been reading, she raised her mop head and seeing him, smiled and closed the folder in front of her. The bright ceiling lights overhead somehow softened the effect of her blue-white eyes.

"Hey, Horatio. What brings you into the cubbyhole?" This time both her smile and her voice showed pleasure at his entry.

Before he could answer, she rose and motioned at him. "Come on around, and have a seat." She indicated the two easy chairs and a short couch set around an oval table in the area behind the desk. She slid into the wine colored chair that sported six inch wide wings springing from either side of the backrest. Sitting sideways, she gathered up her feet under her khaki skirt.

Waiting until he chose the armless chair on the opposite end of the table, she dropped her chin onto her hand, her elbow on the arm of the chair. "I bet you're just dying of curiosity about what I was up to last Saturday night, aren't you? I'm really sorry I didn't get back to you. By the way, you really do clean up nice." She drew out the last word, deepening her voice as she did.

Caught off guard again, not sure where to go with her assumptions or compliments, Horatio leaned back and crossed his long legs. "Uhmm, thank you." He waited to see where this was going to go.

Paying no attention to his pause, Sally continued. "You're welcome. Yeah, I've been showing up as a fairy character at these shindigs for about three years now. It seems to go with my appearance and sort of fits into all sorts of themes. I love working with the guests at the center, too. It's all privately funded, you know, not one dime comes from the government. Of course, backing by local organizations like the Miami-Dade Police Department is the key. But, I've heard that you've donated quite a bit for them so I don't need to sell the idea to you, do I. We try to get the members, the young adults we take care of, involved as much as possible but we also have to supervise them. These events can easily get to be overwhelming for them. To help them get into the spirit of it all, we all dress up in costumes."

"I left about midnight. Did you stay to give the appropriate closing speech at the end of the evening?" Horatio's eyes crinkled.

"Oh, you mean the one, "'If we spirits have offended…'"

Horatio chimed in and both said together, "'…think but this and all is mended, that you have but slumbered here, whilst these visions did appear…'"

Both stopped at the same time and smiled at each other at seeing each knew Shakespeare.

Sally continued, "No, I didn't. You didn't miss a thing."

Horatio's eyebrows tilted up while he nodded. "I see."

After a moment's silence, Horatio began again, "I also came in here on that business you'd brought up last week." He leaned forward, setting both feet on the floor.

It was Sally's turn to be quiet.

Horatio explained what he and Frank Tripp had done to follow up on Marky Samson's three year old murder. Ending with the reaction of both the young men to the questioning, describing their deadpan expressions, he concluded, "So, for the moment, at least, we've come to another dead end."

Sally sat still, looking like she was intently reading a large invisible book in front of her. Her ice-pale eyes were directed downward and they switched quickly from side to side. Finally she looked up, "Their reaction to the questioning could mean a lot of things. I'd say that two kids, so different, several years apart in age, one not even active with the same group, having the same response, is the more telling. Whoever drilled them on what to say really pressured them, and not in a nice way; so much so, it stuck with them for this long. Could it have been one of the directors of the center? Perhaps a volunteer?"

Horatio nodded. "The current director of the facility wasn't there three and a half years ago. He couldn't help. According to the athletics coach who was there, volunteers at these places come and go. Finding one volunteer to pin anything to would be a trick."

Sally shrugged. "Well, whoever it is, he's still active some place in the same area. Those crimes are still going on. If you find anyone you like, call me. I'll watch when you interview him and tell you if he matches anything I've come up with."

When the man with the slightly bemused look in front of her didn't reply but sat quietly, staring down at the end of the table, Sally said, "Ahem."

Horatio hadn't realized he didn't answer her comment about wanting him to call her; he'd merely sat, smiling at the thought of more interactions with this lady. Coming to at her prompt, lifting his blue-eyed gaze to meet her pastel stare, he said, "I also have another case on hand now that I hoped you had some thoughts on." His voice purred gently across the space between them.

Pale as Sally's eyes were, Horatio couldn't help but catch the enlargement of her pupils, which he attributed to an interest in the subject. Perceptive as he was, however, he didn't catch the slight deepening of color on her lips, which was an indicator of an entirely different reaction.

He went on to explain what he knew of Danny Donnelly and what had happened at The Everglades Rest Home. Finally, he concluded with Calleigh's findings on Danny's current whereabouts or lack thereof.

Sally's initial remarks, after he'd finished, were posed in such a way that she seemed to be verifying some information. Little did the lieutenant know that she hadn't been paying attention to the first part of Donnelly's description. She had rather been enjoying the delightful contrast of Horatio's expressive brows to his eye color, had watched his large hands move, as they added color and depth to his words.

Horatio elaborated. "We've verified the bounty hunter's findings. Donnelly's nursing career started in his hometown in eastern Ohio. After two years, he'd moved to across the river to western Pennsylvania to work in a senior care facility. A year and a half later, he was up in a small town in Maine, and a year after that in Wyoming and then he went to Kansas City. He was in Kansas City for only a few weeks before he went to Ponca City. In each case, within two months previous to his departures, there were three to five deaths. In each of the cases, because death in nursing homes isn't all that remarkable, no one questioned the clusters."

Sally dropped her feet to the floor, unconsciously reflecting Horatio's position, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees "But something happened in Ponca City. Somebody got suspicious and he was arrested. So, why was he released?"

"His lawyer got him releasedon a technicality of some sort. I'm betting the arresting officers didn't have their ducks in a row. Here's Donnelly, an experienced nurse, but he's the new kid on the block. When something goes wrong in any small organization, it's the newest that gets blamed. In a small town, the police are close to their community, they're protecting their friends; don't look at them as just citizens. When a friend pointed to a stranger and said 'he did it', they listened. However, they were limited by lack of resources to identify evidence. The police there had basically jumped the gun. Once he was out they lost track of him because they had limited resources. He simply left." Horatio shook his head. He knew too well the importance of funding to a police department.

Sally nodded in sympathy. "So, he got caught, wriggled out, and fled. Apparently, this detective was able to track the guy. He found that maybe he came to Miami. You think these victims of drug overdose are his work."

Horatio nodded. "We think so. This guy seems to be hooked on killing the elderly. To continue doing this, he can't be a fugitive. Hospitals are hungry for nurses and don't question a new resource too hard, but a criminal record would be too much, even for them."

Her small hands gesturing to help form the ideas she was developing, Sally jumped in, "He has to immediately start the killing spree again. He needs the rush more and more often."

Horatio paused and looked up from the mental diagram he'd been laying out in front of him. "So, what's his next move? Best guess?"

As if examining the imaginary map of the crime Horatio had drawn, Sally leaned forward to stare at the table. She was completely unaware that, as she did, her scoop-neck blouse opened up allowing a clear view of chest and beyond. Only her bra saved her modesty.

Before Horatio could politely tear his eyes away from the intriguing sight, she sat up and leaned against the high backed chair, one hand to her mouth, the other at rest on the leather arm, drumming bare fingertips.

Finally, she said, "Two possibilities from what you've told me so far. One, he's followed his previous pattern and may have moved on to another state. Two, nearly getting caught, twice, has added a new thrill to an old game; he's still around here, at another nursing home, wondering how many victims it's going to take before anyone notices this time."

"It'll take too many." Horatio rose from his seat looking like a thunderhead cloud, dark and threatening. "But he's in for a surprise if I have anything to say about it.

As he left the small office, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial. Before the door closed behind him, Sally heard him say, "Calleigh. I just got some interesting information on Donnelly. As you suspected, the clock is ticking. I hope you have some good news for me."

* * *

Calleigh did have some news; several people at The Everglades recognized the picture she'd showed them. They'd identified him as Nurse Mark Primus, a licensed vocational nurse, LVN. He'd had been hired four months previously, but hadn't been seen since the announcement of the lawsuit against them. 

Not recognizing his name from the records she'd examined, Calleigh had also inquired about his role in the dead patients' care. She talked to the head nurse who ran that floor during the time Mark worked. The nurse remembered him as being an unusually helpful staff member, always willing to lend a hand with patients. He had often volunteered to take over to let a fellow nurse leave early or get a few extra minutes for break. Why, once, he'd even done it for her, taking over just as she was going to administer some pain meds. He took the needle and put it into the patient's arm and sent her to her break to take a load off her tired old feet.

After telling Calleigh what Sally had told him, Horatio congratulated her on thinking up just the right questions at the nursing home. "We've got a face now, so let's make use of it."

Calleigh, who had been returning to the lab when she got his call, closed her phone as she walked up behind Horatio and said, "I'm going to pull up a list of every elder care nursing facility in a fifty mile radius and fax them a copy of the picture."

Horatio was always pleased when one of his old tricks was turned on him. Pocketing his phone and turning to face her he answered, "Include sending a copy downstairs and to every precinct office in the same area."

"I'll do that while I'm looking up the numbers for the elder care places."

Horatio's pocket chirped quietly. Before he could answer, Calleigh spun around and walked off without another word.

"Horatio."

Ten minutes later, he was observing Ryan through two leaded glass walls. Hazmat had determined that the insides of this brown and tan jug of early 1900's origin had been lined with radium ore. Even though, according to the hazmat people, the danger of the radiation from the jug was minimal, the lab had been warned not to take chances. Radium has a half-life of several thousand years so the insides of the ninety-year old jug were no doubt as toxic as the day it was made. Within the room, Ryan was clad, as he'd promised, in a lead-lined head to toe suit and even wore a heavy helmet with a small plate at eyelevel for viewing.

He moved ponderously and carefully around the nearly two-foot tall pottery crock set on the lab table. First, he picked up the magnetic wand and waved it over the small dish of bright red powder. The dust adhered to the wand's end forming a bushy looking head of crimson. Holding the wand clumsily in a heavily gloved fist, he then waved the hairy stick carefully over the jug's uneven surface. The broad flat lid to the jar had been laid to the side. The corked spigot stuck in the bunghole near the bottom of the jug hung over the edge of the table. The dust on the wand adhered to the variety of fingerprints on brown and tan coloring.

Ryan, always curious, had gone online earlier to find out why anyone would line a water jug with radium. He first found that radium paint was used extensively in the early 20th Century for making the hands and numbers of watches and aircraft gauge dials visible in the dark. Radium itself, however, was also thought to be beneficial to health. Dilutions of the radioactive material were used in everything from toothpaste to hair gel, even in women's makeup. The use of it was all the rage in the poorly lit speakeasies of the Prohibition Age.

But, it was the health industry that made the most widespread use of it. Several companies either fired water crocks with radium ore infused into the plain clay or even just painted the insides of the finished crocks with radium paint. They sold them with the claims that drinking six to eight glasses of the water kept overnight in the jug would cure everything from sexual dysfunction to the common cold. It was only when women who had painted those watch faces (they'd been encouraged to use their lips and tongues to keep the tips of the camel hair brushes used to apply the paint, sharp and clean) in the early 1900's, began dying in the mid-1920's of bone cancer, laryngeal cancer, throat and even stomach cancers, a suspicion of toxicity arose. Finally, someone realized that direct ingestion of radium wasn't a good thing. By the mid-1930's the craze for applying and drinking radium-impregnated material was over, though many people suffered from the results of having done so for several decades after. Only a few of these jugs or pots had survived as curiosities in various museums. At least, until now.

"We still have to find out why these things are popping up here," Wolfe had announced as he stepped into the suit. He knew there wasn't a whole lot of chance there'd be anyone's fingerprints on this jug but those of Victoria or Vicki, but they had to try. If they were lucky, some other print would still be on it, leading perhaps to whoever had given the jar to Victoria.

Horatio watched as the suited figure dusted the entire outer surface of the jug. Then Ryan had the more difficult task of managing the tape to pick the revealed prints. Ordinarily, this kind of job would take perhaps half and hour to forty-five minutes to complete; this time, though, he wasn't shrugging, sweat soaked, out of the suit, until an hour and a half later. Before he'd left the room, he'd placed the pot back into the lead lined box it had been brought in.

Before he took the plastic leaves of fingerprints to be run through AFIS, Horatio gave Ryan one of his rare 'Man! Isn't it amazing what we do!' grins. He gave a shrugged half smile in return.

TBC

I appreciate any and all comments.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Showered and dressed again by mid-afternoon, Ryan was on the road. His next task was to try his luck with the address of the person who had tended to the last rites of Chris Replogle.This was the non-senior citizen victim of radioactivity. He'd investigated the phone number given for the young man and ascertained it had been a throwaway phone. The address listed in the information given from the cemetery was not listed as being that of anyone else. Wolf's only choice, therefore, was to go to the address and see what he could find.

It took him an hour of missed turns and doubling back to find the location of the small trailer park. The area was one of many dry 'spits' of land that stuck out into the swampy everglades. In among the several varieties of trees was a motley collection of trailer homes in two double rows. Some of the structures had addresses on them, some did not. After two rounds on the rutted unpaved paths around the place, he finally figured out all of the places those so labeled might have them.

He finally stood on the bottom riser of the small rickety wooden steps of the address he sought. It was an old mobile home, about a 1955 vintage. The siding was a two tone, dusky-rose pink and cream white. The wide top landing of the steps, which had no railing around it, was barely wide enough to accommodate one person and not even that, given that the door opened outward. He tapped on the metal door and stood back down a step, waiting for a response. He glanced around and took note that the surrounding trailers, though newer, were smaller. Some were hardly larger than camper shells and some were ancient twenty-five foot Airstream travel trailers. None were quite as well maintained, which gave this one the air of an old stately mansion surrounded by shacks.

After a quick move of a curtain on the side window near the door, a woman's voice called out, "Yes?"

Ryan, figuring the neighbors might be a bit too interested in business that wasn't their own, said, "Ma'am, I'm trying to get some information on Chris Replogle. I'm from…the city."

The door swung open. Looking down at him was one of the most arresting women he'd ever encountered. Her lightly made up face attested to being anything between perhaps a worn fifty-something to a well preserved seventy-something. The rest of her seemed like something out of a sweaty fantasy. Her voluptuous body was poured into tight jeans and a long sleeved, tropical flower on white shirt which was opened in front to beyond gorgeous cleavage. Her hair, worn loose, was a thick silver mane down her back past her shoulders. As soon as she saw him, she smiled delightfully.

"I guess I should tell you, Chris died a few months back."

He first confirmed that he was speaking to Delilah Cortez. Then, after introducing himself, unobtrusively showing the badge by pulling his jacket aside, Ryan explained the purpose of his visit without going into too much detail. He was still aware of the proximity of the trailer parked just barely ten feet away and another two behind this one at about the same distance. Others were across the dirt road that was barely the width of a single car. All had open windows.

When he finished, she hesitated, a distant look crossing her face. As if she'd found a missing piece to a puzzle, she got an 'aha!' look, let go of the door and stepped back. "Come in, please."

Though the trailer was small, compared to its doublewide cousins, the elegant furnishings inside gave the impression of more space. The interior was also very clean which was contrary to his visions of cockroach laden filth. He'd have laid odds the other trailers weren't quite so well kept on the insides.

Feeling oddly oversized as he sat down, he realized the heavily brocaded furniture was slightly smaller than he was used to. The seats were the right height but the backs and widths were a bit smaller than normal. He'd heard of furniture constructed especially for model homes and apartments. They were built on a smaller scale meant to give the impression of more space than there actually was. This, apparently, is what happened to some of the pieces that became outdated; they were put into trailers.

Delilah half reclined on the short gold colored couch. "I sort of wondered about Chris' death. He was in such good shape! I mean, of course, he looked good; he was a professional body builder, after all, but some of those guys aren't all that healthy. Chris was though. His muscles were all natural. It's why he and I got along so well, you know. We took our vitamins and supplements together every morning and every night."

"He lived here?" Ryan prompted.

Just as she was about to answer, the front door behind Ryan swung open. Uneasily rising, he turned to face a muscular man about his own age. The man was dressed in jeans and a tightly fitting black t-shirt emblazoned with a yellow lightning bolt and, in broad square letters of the same color, the name Lou's Gym.

Ms. Cortez rose and went to the man, embracing him around his waist and hugging herself to his torso. She looked up into his face as he continued to stare evenly at Ryan. "Honey, this is a policeman. He's come to ask some questions about Chris."

As if suddenly realizing he had a beautiful woman gluing herself to his frame, he bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the lips and hugged her with his free arm. He carried in the other hand, a red gym bag with the word Everlast on the side. Lifting his head, a slight frown on his face, he looked at Delilah and nodded. "Chris? Why?"

Ms. Cortez lifted her hand to pat the young giant's shoulder. "He just got here and was about to tell me. Go take your shower and by the time you get back, maybe I'll know why." She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed his chin. Stepping back, she gave him room to advance past her.

As soon as the young man heard 'policeman' he'd lowered his gaze to the floor. Not seeming to care he hadn't been introduced, not looking up again, he stepped by Delilah and went through the dinette/kitchen area to the back area of the trailer.

Ryan watched the door to the back being pulled closed and then turned to the again seated Ms. Cortez.

"I'm sorry I didn't introduce you. Pauly is a little hyper sensitive about Chris. He and I met only a month ago and he just moved in the other day."

Not sure how else to proceed, Ryan blurted out, "Was Chris living here before?"

The elder lady's eyes twinkled. "I suppose that seems a bit strange to you?"

Before the discomfited Ryan could answer, Delilah proceeded. "I know it is. Not only has some new guy moved in barely six months after the one before passes on, but both of them are forty years younger than me to boot." The woman leaned forward as she spoke, her breasts seeming to struggle to escape the enclosing bondage of the shirt.

Relieved when she leaned back, Ryan still wasn't sure what to say next.

"Just chalk it up to the foolishness of a never-married retired school teacher." She waved a hand gently in front of her as she sat and then leaned back on the couch. "The old girl is just having fun and body builders are my preference. I provide comfort and shelter and they...make me feel appreciated." She smiled with a knowing look and a twinkle in her eyes.

She sat up, abruptly and spoke in a no-nonsense manner. "But, you're not here to discuss the current beau, are you? You're here about Chris. You know, the whole thing with him seemed a bit strange. He wasn't doing all that well when he moved in with me. I thought it was because he was maybe overdoing the exercise or maybe not really eating right. That wasn't it though. He got enough sleep, worked with a trainer, and even brought a special health-water jug."

Ryan's ears perked up. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I thought he was going to croak when he broke it moving in. He nearly cried. Thank goodness I knew the guy who'd sold these. This place is like, on his sales route or something. He was due to come around and sure enough he did about a week later."

"Was this water holder a clay crock with the word Revigorator painted on the side?"

She brightened. "Yes. You know Nate, then?"

"Uh, no, but I'd like to meet him."

As if a light were dawning in her mind, Delilah Cortez frowned and smiled at the same time. "Okay, what's this about?"

"Ms. Cortez, did you know that Chris Replogle died of radiation poisoning?"

Obviously shocked, her eyes opened wide as her jaw dropped. "What? No! He died of stomach ulcers! Had massive internal bleeding! His mother died a long time ago of the same thing!"

Ryan explained how he'd found Chris's body in the cemetery and why he'd been looking.

"Oh, my god!"

"Do you, by any chance, still have the jug?"

Delilah rose and went over to the refrigerator that faced the living room area. She opened the door and to reveal the Revigorator jug inside. "Pauly likes his water cold."

Speaking calmly, Ryan asked, "How long has he been drinking water from the jug?"

Rattled, Delilah stuttered, "A-a-about five days, I'd guess. Why?"

Ryan explained what Hazmat had found in the same kind of jug. He then asked how much she'd drunk from it.

"I prefer water straight from the tap. I haven't bothered with this silly thing. But Chris swore by it and Pauly thought it was doing him some good already. Oh jeez! That poor baby. What have I done?" Delilah ran a hand through her hair.

Using reassuring tones Ryan said, "I want you to take your friend to Miami Memorial Hospital right now. They've got a special unit designed to handle radiation poisoning. They'll know what to do." He pulled out his cell phone.

"Calleigh? Hi. I need you to call Miami Memorial for me. I don't have their number."

He nodded. "I think we've got another victim of the Revigorator jug. Tell them they'll be coming in, in about forty minutes." He looked questioningly at the seemingly frozen woman in front of him. "Thanks Cal." He closed the phone.

Smiling gently at the suddenly aging Ms Cortez, he motioned at the closed door to the back area of the large trailer. "You'd better tell him right away. I'd go in but I bet he'd like it better if you did."

Seeing no response, Ryan continued softly. "I've done a little research on the type of radiation in the crock. Even if he drank the thing dry four times a day in the last five days, he probably hasn't been harmed. The radiation level is really low. Real damage is done only by drinking the stuff constantly over a period of several months. Now, has he drunk all that much each day?"

Coming to, Ms. Cortez shook her head slightly. "No, I don't think he has."

"The hospital will know how to flush his system. They'll probably keep him for a few days for observation, do a complete physical and all of that and then just send him home, fine and dandy."

Still dazed, Delilah took in a breath that threatened to pop a button on her shirt. The device was saved by her sudden exhale. Suddenly she was alive and in charge. "Pauly!" She charged through the door to the back.

Reassured she wasn't going to pull the young man out in whatever state of undress he might be, hearing her giving instructions about putting on clothes, as she proposed to pack an overnight bag for him, Ryan opened his phone again.

An hour later, Ryan met the Special Division Radiation Team from Hazmat at the head of the motley collection of mobile homes. Among the twenty or so trailers, he'd found owners of three more Revigorator jugs. He'd also been given instructions from Delilah on how to lock her trailer once the crock and all drinking glasses Pauly had used had been removed from the premises.

As he suspected, other owners of the jugs were not impressed by his admonition that they might be in danger. However, when the heavily suited Hazmat men waived the wands over their midsections and they saw the Geiger counter needle jump and heard the high-pitched drone from the speaker, they were definitely intimidated. Also, after hearing imperatives spoken from inside the helmets, instructions on what hospital to go to, their sense of urgency was visibly heightened. Moments later, while the Radiation people dealt with the jugs, Ryan watched the dust rise behind three cars as they rolled hurriedly down the dirt road leading to the main highway.

* * *

Ryan had been looking forward to having a cup of coffee before writing out his report of the findings of the day. He wasn't so sure about it though once he'd caught the evil smell issuing from the break room before he'd even gone through the door. 

Wrinkling his nose as he entered, he found the rest of the team ahead of him in various relaxed modes. Horatio was closest to the coffee pot, leaning against the counter. Delko was seated on another counter near the microwave. Calleigh was in an easy chair, hugging her knees to her chest. Natalia was half reclining on the couch, running her fingers through wet hair.

Seeing Ryan's face, Natalia raised her other hand and lowered her chin as she chided, "Don't say it! I know! I can't believe the place still smells so bad. I swear, I scrubbed myself four times! I came in here earlier, but I didn't touch a thing, then!" She went on to explain that she and Delko had gone to a city dump. They'd actually found two jugs but only after falling and slipping in the tons of filth. In one fall, she said, she'd torn a rent in leg of her suit. Apparently, the smell of the filth had completely permeated the inside of suit and her as well. Even having stripped it off on location and putting it into the bulky plastic bag in the back of the hummer, the stuff seemed to reek from every part of her. It was so bad, she'd said, she'd insisted they drive with the windows of the Hummer open all the way back to the lab. Before hitting the showers, she'd come into the break room to get a glass of water, and swore she'd used a paper towel to even hold the plastic cup and to open the spigot on the water cooler.

Rolling her eyes, Calleigh chimed in, "I even turned up the air conditioning when I came in here. I think the smell might be coming from something you might have left on the floor from your shoes."

Pulling his mug from the cupboard above the coffee pot, nodding cordially to the silent Horatio, Ryan waited patiently while Natalia finished. It was obvious she'd repeated the apology many times. He knew Horatio could tell he had some news to report.

Sure enough, Horatio's quiet voice carried around the room as he asked, "What did you come up with today, Mr. Wolfe?"

Extending the moment as long as possible, Ryan smiled as he stared down at the cup he'd just contentedly slurped at. "I just may have broken the radiation case. I have the name of the man who's apparently been distributing the Revigorator jugs." He continued with his explanation of his day and ended with, "And she thinks his name is Nate something-or-other. Said his last name might have had something to do with water."

Delko was first to comment. "We bust our butts for two days, going from one interview to the next, crawl over rotten garbage for half a day, fight off a billion and half seagulls, and come up with two jugs and we still don't know how they got into anyone's hands. You go to one interview, talk with the original little old lady schoolteacher turned Mae West, find four jugs, and get the name of the guy selling them up and down the edge of the Everglades." He shook his head as if disgusted.

"Some of us just know how to investigate." Ryan tried not to bristle under the jibes, but failed as usual.

To stop the friendly fight to prove 'quién es macho más macho' in the Lab that day, Horatio stepped forward. "I believe the prints from the jug you two brought in the other day have been run," he nodded at Delko and Boa Vista. "It seems there's a partial print that was already matched to a man named Nate Fontainebleau. He has a prison record in Louisiana." He turned to Ryan. "Your investigation now confirms that he may well be the distributor." Looking around in general, he finished with, "Good work, all three of you." Brushing aside his coat, raising his hands to his hips, he pronounced, "Now, the next step is going to be finding him." Finally, he looked pointedly at Natalia with a twinkle in his eyes. "And I think you can consider yourself having passed the ultimate test of a CSI."

Calleigh beamed, looking from her supervisor to her newest teammate. "Hear, hear, Natalia. Welcome to the brother/sisterhood of a most elite group. We've all been through it and some not nearly as well. I threw up after my first dumpsite search. Hail fellow and well met!" She clapped her hands.

Natalia rose and gave a quick curtsey to the rest who joined in with a few handclaps.

"And now, Calleigh," Horatio called out, "did you have any luck finding that nurse?"

Calleigh happily took the spotlight. "Not yet. Daniel Donnelly used the name Mark Primus at the Everglades Home. I have a feeling that's the last we've seen of that personality, though I'm still hot on the trail. I've sent the picture I got from the Ponca City PD to every hospital, nursing home, and elder care facility in the entire southeastern half of Florida. I also included a warning about anyone who might be a new staff member giving any kind of pain meds to the elderly. Finally, I told them to not alarm or warn anyone but to call us and let us handle it. The problem there is, some places just don't distribute information very efficiently. It's, after all, not their primary goal. We can hope, though."

Turning to the sink to rinse out his coffee cup, Horatio spoke over his shoulder. "You can only do what you can do, Calleigh. If any of you need me, I'll be in my office catching up on paperwork." He shook a bit of water from the cup, and placed it inside the cupboard over the sink. Finally, he wheeled around and without a further word, walked rapidly out of the room.

Taking that as his cue, Ryan was next to use the sink. He carefully washed his cup and toweled it dry before setting it into the same cupboard. "I'll be at my lab desk, writing my report for today." He tried not to be smug but wasn't all that successful at it.

Delko shook his head at his teammate and rolled his eyes. He stretched hugely and then said, "I think I'll just come in early and get the report done tomorrow. Is that alright with you, Natalia?"

"Sure," she replied. "After I've scrubbed for another hour at home, I'll be ready for bed. I'll see you bright and early and help with the report."

After Delko left, Boa Vista turned to Calleigh and said plaintively, "Do you think I should try to clean the floors? Get the smell out of here?"

Calleigh smiled in sympathy as she stretched her legs out of the chair and stood. "Nah! The cleaning crew handles worse messes than this all the time and is much better at it." She picked up her coffee cup and walked over to where Delko had left his. "On the other hand, they don't clean up our coffee mess."

Ryan, who hadn't left yet, reached out. "Here Calleigh, let me. I'm done with needling everyone and need to make up for it. Just don't tell Delko, alright?" He took the cups from the blonde's hands and turned to wash them as carefully as he'd done his own. "Oh, and, Boa Vista?"

Natalia turned as she was about to leave. "Yes?"

"I didn't mean to indicate you haven't done a fantastic job. Crawling in garbage on a hot afternoon in Florida humidity should get you a medal. How about, when you do fingerprints on those jugs you got today, I act as a watcher for you. You'll need one, you know." Ryan turned from putting away the cups and smiled at the pretty young woman who was staring back at him.

Uncertainly, Natalia answered, "Well, gee, Ryan, that's nice of you. I'll let you know as soon as I can schedule the safe room."

Nothing pleased Calleigh more than seeing her fellow team members getting along. The room brightened by several lumens as her smile broadened.

As they all stepped out into the hallway, Calleigh glanced briefly up to the office where she could see Horatio sitting at his desk. Seeing he'd caught their movement, she cast him another of her smiles just before she turned to leave.

Horatio never tried to keep an eye on his team, since he didn't need to, but he always took notice of them. After many years of working with Calleigh Duquesne now, he knew what her brief look at him meant. That look and the quick nod meant all was at peace with the team and the cases were progressing well.

He wished his own task at hand, right now, was going as well, except it wasn't. It's just that his mind kept wandering. Ordinarily, Horatio's thoughts were carefully controlled, performing as needed. He had five case folders in front of him and after twenty minutes, he should have had one done already and the next well started. Instead, he was barely a quarter of the way through the first one and only because it was a case he'd worked himself. He'd approved and initialed those first few sheets as he'd worked, last month. Now, looking at Valera's DNA workup on some trace, a bit of skin found on a gun known to have killed the victim, something about it reminded him of Sally Brandt. This, he knew, was silly since Ms Brandt never once in any conversation had mentioned DNA, skin trace, a gun, or a shooting victim… No, that wasn't quite true. Marky Samson had been a shooting victim, hadn't he? Still, no excuse to let his mind wander! He chided himself to get back to work, breaking his gaze from the now empty corridor below.

But no, that strange mop of blond, brown, hair with grey strands, hanging over those icy pale blue eyes kept floating in front of him. Well, more than that. He swore he remembered every pose of hers since the moment he'd first opened his eyes after that peculiar dream. Her look of amusement when he first woke up, her look of analysis to his replies, her look of logical examination and so on. Thinking of her, sitting in the chair that morning, he remembered the curve of her upper body encased in that pink jersey blouse. Guiltily, he also remembered that delicious glance of what lay under that blouse when she'd leaned forward. He'd quickly judged that they were just a little less than handful size.

Sternly trying to direct his mind to other channels, the redhead wondered if Sally adopted that haircut to go with her penchant to dress like a fairy for the young people she worked with. Or was it perhaps a stylist's effort to distract from those eyes? As that thought passed through his mind, he tossed his pen onto the pile of work, leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

'_No use fighting it, old man, so you might as well enjoy it_.'

TBC

What do you think so far?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Calleigh congratulated herself on having acted so cool and collected for the entire day. Even Natalia, usually so perceptive, hadn't caught on. Perhaps that was because Natalia had been flustered by the events of her own day. Her nattering over the worry about the odor she'd left behind had frustrated Calleigh near to death. While Nat had blubbered on and on about the smell and been so grateful to her for being so understanding, she'd only wanted to ask Horatio what he thought about working with Frank. She'd wanted to hear from everyone how fantastic the tall Texan was. Instead, she'd had to sit calmly, like she always did, being so in control of herself. She'd had to talk of her efforts at finding the man who was euthanizing seniors as if it was the only thing on her mind!

What she'd wanted to do was bound into the lab that morning and do a cheer. She wanted to shout the praises of Frank Tripp, on how smart he was, how gentle he was, how great he was. Then, she wanted to find Valera and get teased about how odd she looked the other night, paired up with a man over a foot taller than she was. And then she wanted to flabbergast her by telling what had happened afterwards, in great detail! How he'd been so interested that night in some legal proof she'd been detailing, that he'd turned off the engine. How he'd finally, firmly and sweetly asked her to shut up. How he'd taken her in his oh, so powerful arms and deliciously kissed her.

Even before the Follies, Calleigh had felt like a teenager getting dressed last Saturday evening. She was so happy! Asking Frank to take her to the dance, should have been no big deal, but it was. She'd really been nervous. Why? The worst he could have done was to say no. Actually, she hadn't even considered the idea of asking Frank until she'd seen him walking out of the lounge. It was merely serendipitous that he'd been there just as she was moping over not being able to trot out her new duds. She'd planned on going anyway, as had been ordered, but not in that outfit. In fact, she'd planned to just wear a plain dress and perhaps even flats, stay only so long as her presence would be noted by the brass, grab a bite from the inevitable buffet spread, make a bid on the luggage, and then run home. She'd even looked in the television program guide to see if there was anything good on that night.

No doubt this wouldn't have happened if she and Jake were still together. Nor would she have thought of asking Tripp if she hadn't overheard him mention the finalization of his divorce a few months ago. She'd briefly given him her sympathies when they'd worked a case together and noted his reaction but hadn't thought too much of it then. Frank usually kept his personal life just that. Only because they'd worked together, off and on, for years did she recognize how his eyes, a true green, had shifted slightly as he'd shrugged his shoulders during his reply. She'd come to know that was his public way of expressing sadness and regret over the matter.

Funny, how, twice, he'd chosen delicate flower types of women to marry. He always seemed to marry women who craved frequent, loving attention from a man who had a steady schedule. Slipping on an earring, Calleigh had wondered if Frank thought she was delicate. She grinned at her petite, blond, blue-green-eyed good looks in the mirror. No! Frank had seen her single-handedly toss men to the ground and handcuff them. There was no way he could think she was delicate after that. So, maybe he'd accepted her plea simply as a favor to a co-worker. Okay, she could live with that. It's not like she'd been hankering after him for months! She didn't think she had, anyway. Had she?

Even when she'd opened the door to her small apartment to greet him, she hadn't gotten any kind of rush. Obviously, he had, but then, she'd gotten that dress because it had been so impressive. Suddenly, he'd gotten the look of a nervous schoolboy out on his first formal date. In her casual way, she'd quickly diffused the situation by quipping, "Hey, cowboy, don't you just clean up nice?" Then, grabbing her wrap and her clutch purse, she'd ducked past the blushing man, closing the door behind her, and marched down the walk to his truck. Okay, so she may have twitched her behind a little.

She wasn't sure just when she'd thought there might be more to her and Frank than his availability and her need to be driven to and from the event. She'd been impressed with his gentlemanly behavior in handing her into his truck, then again when they'd grandly entered the hall, but that was all. Though he was a great dancer, at first, she'd felt awkward because even in platform heels, she was only at eye level with his suit lapels. Maybe it was the feeling of comfort in his arms as they moved to the music that gave her a clue. She had, at some point in the evening, briefly wondered what it would be like to lie naked against his huge form. It wasn't a laughable thought, either.

Maybe it had been after he'd shown genuine interest in the Gucci stuff she'd lost in the bidding (by several hundred dollars). Rather than wonder how men could use any of 'that stuff,' he'd admired the quality as well as the utility of several of the pieces. Even though he usually tried to act like a roughshod hick from the panhandle, Frank was very intelligent and sensitive. He also lacked patience for stupidity and cruelty in others. His only problem was not wanting to reveal anything about himself which was why he wore the dumb cop façade. Not that Calleigh hadn't already known this about Frank, but maybe she was more ready to notice it this evening.

Then, there had been afterwards, in his truck parked in front of her place. Pure, plumb necking was what they'd done. Then, talking like smitten teenagers on the phone yesterday. Where had the time gone? It had been so much fun!

How she avoided exploding out of the front doors of the lab that evening she didn't know. But she knew she'd walked in the same casual manner she always did when she was leaving work, walked around to the parking structure to her car, and drove out in the same careful manner as always. Only when she was on the road and had tuned in her favorite music station (the Plantation Station) at ear splitting level did she let go. Her little four-on-the-floor bounced down the road the same as she did behind the wheel. Earlier in the day, Frank had text-messaged her to meet him after work at the Sky Lounge in the Conrad Hotel. She guessed it was his current favorite watering hole. Gosh! A real date!

She found him protectively hunched over his glass of a brown liquid at the bar, ignoring the great thirty-six story high view of Miami to his left. Correctly assessing the mood, Calleigh didn't greet him in her usually effusive manner but simply slid into the stool next to his and quietly ordered a seven-up from the bartender. Frank tried to hide his grin when he saw her out of the corner of his eye but he couldn't quite manage.

After about ten minutes of compatible silence, Frank quietly asked Calleigh if she'd like to go get something to eat. Neither had emptied their glasses when they left.

Establishing that they didn't want anyplace fancy or noisy, they settled on a nearby hole-in-the-wall eatery that featured a Cuban/American fusion style of cooking. It was here that Frank finally put away his tough-cop-don't-mess-with-me attitude and became the man Calleigh had detected on the phone the day before. He was slyly witty, knowledgeable in some areas, and interested in what he had yet to learn. Before dinner was through they'd touched on ballistics (of course), ballet (both agreed they liked the music, not the dance) and the finer points of barbecue sauces. Frank favored chilies in his and Calleigh preferring various vinegars and herbs for piquant flavors.

Their next point of discussion was whether they should go either to her place or his so they could wrap themselves into each other's arms, at least for a few moments. They settled on his place since it was between their present location and Calleigh's apartment.

Half an hour later, Calleigh's feeling that this was absolutely right, was confirmed. Perched facing him on his lap as he sat on the couch, she kissed him, sating a hunger unsatisfied by the good meal she'd had. Returning her kisses, he ran one hand through the strands of her loosely worn hair and the other across her back. Never once did he try to pull or manipulate her small frame as so many men did. Somehow, she'd known he wouldn't, ever, even in the most intimate situations. She almost laughed as that thought passed by. Was she getting carried away? Perhaps.

Their lips locked, tasted, and savored each other. Their hands found shoulders, arms, waists in blind, discerning hunger.

What was it about Frank that was so attractive, anyway? Was it that he was his own man? Was it that, unlike so many in law enforcement, he wasn't a rebel in disguise, someone who bent the rules to fit his own view of what justice was about? Frank was a man who seemed to have a clear view of himself and of his place in the scheme of the law. He was a big man who used his size to underline his purpose, not to enforce it. It was the same now, he was accommodating her to meet their common end of enjoying each other.

Actually, their purposes in life coincided. Just as she was about bringing the bad guys to justice by proving their guilt through science, Frank was about finding the evidence, physical and verbal, to prove who the bad guy was. Like her, he had a no-nonsense attitude about the law. The only difference was that she sometimes used her apparent dumb-blond beauty, and her Southern charm, to manipulate culprits into admitting what they did, and Frank, never used his Texan outlook or size.

Her tongue met his again. What did he do to make kissing him so attractively fun? It certainly wasn't his looks. Not that he was unattractive. It's just that, when first met, Frank had a way of being almost hostile to almost anyone. In the few years they'd worked together, however, she'd found he had these crisp layers on the outside, like an onion, that hid the softer, varied layers underneath.

She felt his hands, surprisingly soft and gentle, encasing her waist, stopping most definitely at her belt line; never threatening to go any further down. A moment later, one hand moved up her back and the other caressed the back of her head.

That was it! She felt absolutely safe with this man, in all respects. He would not betray her as the Treasury agent, Peter Elliot, had done nor would he ever try to best her as Jake Berkeley had always tried to do. Nor was he unstable, as Hagan had been. There was no guessing with Frank. He was rock solid and as up front and honest as they come.

An hour later, it was Frank who suggested they call it quits for the night. It was the first words spoken in the room for nearly half an hour. Checking her watch and being surprised at the late hour, Calleigh reluctantly agreed.

A few minutes later, hanging on her car door, Frank said, "I hope you don't think this will interfere with our working relationship."

"I hope not, either, Frank."

"'Cause, I like where this is going."

Looking up at his face, still flushed from their activities, Calleigh flashed a very special smile. "So do I."

He bent down and gave her another quick kiss, backed off and closed her door for her.

On the way home, her choice of radio station played quiet, retrospective tunes.

TBC

What do you think of this pairing?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Though somewhat dimmed by the lab's window tinting, the morning sun still reflected radiantly from the highly polished black floors. The glare bounced and ricocheted back and forth among the various angles of the hundreds of glass louvers around the diverse work areas, and gently stroked the brushed aluminum doorframes.

Delko, Wolfe, and Boa Vista, all sat in the evidence display room, their backs to the kaleidoscopic dazzle. They talked quietly as they sipped from their steaming cups of coffee.

"Well, at least I know what the label on those jugs means now. After finishing my report last night, I looked up 'Revigorator' on the web."

"It actually means something?" Eric's deep brown eyes lit up at the prospect.

In his element, Wolfe explained. "Yeah, well, it's a made up word. It was used as a trade name in the early part of the twentieth century. A company in San Francisco got a water jug patented with that word in the 1920's. They made jugs lined with radium ore and sold them as a health product all over the country."

Natalia's jaw dropped, her teeth showing brilliantly against her warm toned skin. "My god! And they got away with it?"

Ryan smiled wryly as he shook his head ever so slightly. "Back then, anyone could sell anything. Besides, everyone thought radiation was a good thing. Even though Marie Curie had died of aplastic anemia, no one knew it had been caused by her work with radium. They just knew she died, but back then, lots of people died from unknown causes. Radium was thought to be a magic cure-all by 1910."

Eric nodded. "I know it was used for watch dial faces and airplane instrument dials."

Natalia smiled in recognition of something. "Oh yeah, I remember reading something about 'Radium Girls'. Some women worked at a watch factory. So, if people knew about that, why were the jugs sold?"

Ryan smiled benignly as he explained. "They didn't realize what they were dying of until the late 1930's. Even though most of the women had worked in the factories through the twenties, it took another fifteen to twenty years before people knew that it was the effects of the radiation that was killing them. After all, Madame Curie didn't die until 1934 and she'd worked with radioactive material since the 1890's. Radium was thought to be almost magic because it looked so pretty. It was put into all kinds of things, not just in watch dial paint. It was put into face creams and ointments as cures for everything from arthritis to impotence. They even put it into women's makeup."

Natalia raised a finger. "Oh, that's like how chlorophyll was put into all kinds of stuff when my mom was young. She remembers even potato chips were laced with it."

Ryan continued, "With much less devastating results, of course. But, yeah, if you didn't drop dead immediately from using some product, it was touted to be the best thing ever. Even polysaturated fats had its day.Once they proved that radium put out invisible rays, and it became commonly available, everyone jumped on the bandwagon. Several companies that manufactured clay crockery got into the act. One in San Francisco patented the Revigorator, but some companies just labeled the jugs with the words, Radium Water. One guy that called his water, Radithor, ended up dying of cancer of the bladder."

Eric asked, "So, why are these Revigorator jugs showing up now?"

Natalia chimed in, "And why so many?"

Ryan frowned as he recalled all he'd read. "Well, according to what I found, one or two of these jugs seems to show up every year at antique shows. People find them in attics and barns. They were distributed all over the US."

Eric said, "You know, Miami was advertised as being a healthy place to live even back in the twenties. After all, was the place where the Fountain of Youth was supposed to be."

"I remember reading about that in school," Nat answered. "Health resorts came and went like lightening. Some of these places even had people wading out into the swamp water to bathe, saying the warm water would cure anything that ailed you. Then, when they'd lose a client or two to alligators, or when a hurricane came in, they'd fold. Remnants of those old places pop up from time to time, still. Do you think they sold these jugs, maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe so. I bet they all sold tons of health products for people to take with them." agreed Eric, "As the Everglades rise and fall with the amount of rainfall, I know old foundations show up and then get submerged again. Maybe there was a stash of jugs someplace." Then he shook his head. "All really interesting stuff but, you know what? Not leading us to this guy, Nate."

Natalia decisively put her coffee cup down on the glass-topped table. "So, let's go give those jugs a good going over. We've got nothing else. Hopefully there's more than prints."

As they shouldered their way out of the door, Ryan told Delko he'd agreed to be watcher outside of the safe room.

Delko nodded. "I'll spell her when she's had enough of being in the suit, then. We all might as well take a hit."

Ryan's face showed his concern. "You sure you want to risk another exposure to radiation?"

Delko grinned lopsidedly, "Hey, it's been over four years since that last time and I was given a clean bill of health even then. Not all of these jugs put together have a hundredth of what I was exposed to. Besides, I'll wear a lead apron under the lead lined suit, just to be sure."

Ryan smiled at the thought of his burly friend in an apron but didn't say anything.

Three hours later, the trio, eating an early lunch in the break room, speculated over their finds.

Both men chewed on sandwiches and nodded in agreement over as Natalia said, "I'm betting there's nothing new in the fingerprint department but I'll lay odds we'll get something from that one pot."

She was referring to the layer of residue they'd found inside one of the Revigorators from Ryan's trailer park.

Ryan pulled out a notebook from his jacket pocket. "Yeah, I had to look it up just to be sure, but that's the crock that that one guy said he'd never used. His wife had bought it as a gag gift for his sixtieth birthday. According to the hospital reports, he was the only one who tested absolutely negative for radiation. The other people had detectable, though negligible traces."

Eric swallowed and remarked, "Yeah, they probably didn't use them much. Most people buy all kinds of health products, vitamins, food supplements, even exercise equipment and then don't use them."

"Have you heard about the condition of that one guy, Ryan?" Natalia was referring to Pauly, the replacement boyfriend for Delilah Cortez.

"Yeah. He's fine. They put him through a complete decontamination process. It'll take a couple of more days to wash the remnants of the radium tainted water from his system. Of course, he's going to have to go in for checkups for the rest of his life. Even a brief exposure to radiation can bring trouble down the line."

Everyone sat quietly for a few minutes. Finally, Ryan balled up the plastic wrap that had held his sandwich along with the paper bag he'd carried it in. He tried an overhand toss at the wastebasket and, as usual, missed. Rising from his chair, he scooped up the wads and placed them into the basket and remarked, "Well, I guess the trace in that jug isn't going to get analyzed with me in here, is it?"

"I'll do half," chimed in Natalia. She rose and tossed her lunch remains into the waste and followed Ryan out.

"Find me in fingerprints," Eric called out. Like Boa Vista, he didn't think there'd be anything new, but until they were all matched to samples from the people at the trailer park, he wouldn't know for sure.

An hour later, he looked up from his last print going through AFIS to see his teammates walking towards him, smiling. "I hope you got better news than I do." Just as he spoke, the computer popped a ding sound, indicating a match to the print had been found. As he'd suspected, the last print was the same as the one remaining person on the list, meaning, they had no new prints on the jugs.

Natalia's face was alight with triumph. "Oh yeah. Good news, indeed." She looked deferentially to Ryan.

Ryan held his hands widely apart. "It's you that identified the stuff, Natalia, you tell him."

Not needing a second invitation, Boa Vista proudly displayed the sheaf of pages she was carrying. "That trace inside the jug was nothing less than the remains of swamp water. It had apparently once been submerged in the stuff. Either Nate only bothered to clean the outsides of all of them or maybe this is just one he missed."

"So? Seventy-eight percent of Florida is swamp. Where does the good news come in?"

"It's what was in the swamp water." Natalia fluttered the papers at Eric. "Aside from the bits of gammagrass, which is in any swampland, and some common wild iris, there was a petal from the very uncommon Nelumbo nucifera, the sacred lily."

"So?"

"So, that and the pollen from small ladies tresses, plus some pollen from another plant called straw colored flat sedge, narrowed it down to a part of the Miami-Dade everglades in a very specific area. Those plants, combined with a little research on what area of those specific swamplands flooded after about 1925 and then receded in the last thirty or forty years, narrowed it down even more. To about a fifteen mile stretch, to be specific." Natalia was clearly proud of herself.

Always ready to test a rookie, Eric challenged, "That's still a lot of territory, Natalia. The area covered by water rise and falls can be twenty miles wide. That's about a three hundred square miles to look in."

Here, Natalia could only shrug her shoulders. "Yeah, but remember, the idea for narrowing down the search was to see if we could find the locations of any health resorts in that area. Going on what we talked about this morning, that the jugs might have been sold by a health resort or something. There were actually three spas in the target area at various times."

"And?" urged Eric.

She turned to Ryan, looking for help. He pushed himself erect from leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded. "And so, we've got three locations to look at. That narrows the area down to about thirty square miles, all told. Only thing is, what are we looking for? We thought you'd have an idea."

Eric grinned. "As a matter of fact, I do." He stepped over to the end of the table to a computer keyboard. "Have you seen these maps that are made from aerial photographs? You can even see individual houses on them! I bet, if we lay in the addresses of those old resorts, we can see if there is anything habitable in those locations now." He stood at a computer keyboard and in short order, pulled up a map site.

With Nat and Ryan to either side, Eric tapped in the first address "Okay, the first address shows what looks to be two homes." He paused and saw that Ryan was taking notes on the addresses.

While he pulled up the locations of the two other resorts, he voiced his thoughts. "I'm thinking that after we see where the other locations are, we call around to a couple of the larger real estate companies in Miami. They all share knowledge on properties, no matter who's representing it."

Ryan smiled. "So, we call and see if any of these houses have seen any action on the sales market in the last…what, three or four years, maybe?"

An hour later, the three were on their way to a remote farm that had shown several outbuildings on the aerial map view. It was located a few miles north of the trailer park where Delilah Cortez lived. Followed by three patrol cars with officers clad in bulletproof gear and armed with rifles and tear gas, they were looking for Nate Fontainebleau.

* * *

Earlier that morning, Calleigh's pretty face had carried a slight frown as she spoke into her cell phone. "Horatio? Did Alexx talk to you yet?" 

Hearing a negative reply, Calleigh continued, "She got an early callout on a DB found over at the Galleria parking structure." She nodded at the phone held to her ear, "Yeah, so you did know about it. Well, she asked me to ID the bullet ASAP. Horatio, it's the wife of City Council Member Hidalgo Sorenson." The petite blonde's head bobbed again. "Did you know she was a lawyer? I think her offices are located in the business section of the Galleria Mall. She must have been spending a late night and was headed to her car. The reason I'm calling you is IBIS got a hit on the bullet." Calleigh knew when she had case breaking news. "It's from a case we worked on over three years ago. Remember the kid shot under a tree in a quiet neighborhood?"

Calleigh was surprised Horatio remembered Marky Samson's name. "It's got the same striations and is even the same vintage! But, that's not the only good news. Besides the bullet, theres also handprint that the night shift lifted from the victim's car. I'm guessing the killer was waiting for Ms Sorenson, had leaned against the car, maybe. Anyway, I got a match from AFIS. It's a kid that's been in and out of the Miami legal system for years." She nodded again, "Yes, Frank is bringing the kid in now."

* * *

Horatio's stance in the hallway was typical of when he was about to bring the long arm of the law down on a habitual criminal. Though his body faced Detective Frank Tripp, he was looking to his left at the young man in the interview room. He'd already taken note of how the kid standing, legs spread wide, his hands held awkwardly at the beltline in the back, eyes fixed straight ahead under scowling brows. As if making a point, the young man stood directly in back of a chair. 

Horatio raised his hands to his own beltline, one hand was cupped comfortably around his gold Lieutenant's shield, denoting his more than ten years of service to Miami. His other hand was on the place where he usually carried his holstered gun, empty now because he was in the lab. His face showed both his sadness at the prospect of dealing with a youngster who seemed to have gone so wrong and his determination to see justice done. "Frank, what have you got on him?"

Anticipating the query, Frank had his notebook in his hand. "Kid's name is Pedro Delagarza. His print was on the vehicle owned by Sonia Sorenson, who was shot sometime last night. We got a search warrant for his house when we got the arrest warrant. Found what appears to be the murder weapon under his mattress. Calleigh is running tests on it now, and looking up the serial number for owner registration. It's an old military style gloch. I'm betting whoever is on record as the owner isn't this kid."

"No doubt, Frank, no doubt."

Frank stared at the young person and snorted. "We brought him in here over an hour ago and he's stood like that ever since. I told him to take a seat and he wouldn't budge. Kid's got a record as long as my arm, too; everything from skipping school to petty theft. Been in and out of probation camps since he was twelve. I think whatever camp he was last at must have been one of those pseudo boot camp places. I bet he thinks he's going to get points for doing that."

"Did he say where he'd gotten the gun, Frank?" Horatio's voice droned from deep inside his chest.

"Nope. Hasn't said anything but yessir and nosir or just sir. Oh, and one other thing, Horatio. The kid is only seventeen but he's legally emancipated. We can question him without his parents or a lawyer being present."

Horatio came to a decision. "Frank, would you mind if I call in an observer before we start to question Pedro?" He reached into his jacket pocket.

Frank's eyes were roving the various labs as he absently answered, "Yeah, sure, call in anyone you like."

Turning away as he used his phone, Horatio didn't notice how Frank's face lit up as he saw Calleigh approaching.

Frank caught himself before his grin spread too far. Glancing around to see if anyone had taken notice of the brief change from his usual moody-cop attitude, he straightened his face back to more of a sober look as he greeted her with, "Hey Calleigh. What you got?"

Not hiding her feelings as well as he hid his, she knew that most people would simply mistake her smile for her good ol' Southern charm. Of course, she was very glad that Horatio wasn't looking at her, knowing he'd clue in on the fact that something was going on between her and the large detective. "Hey Frank. I just finished checking that gun you brought in. It leaves the same stria pattern as I found on the bullet we pulled out of Ms Sorenson which matches with the bullet we got from Marky Samson. A clear link." She handed Frank the printouts showing the pictures of bullets, all labeled. Included was her concisely written report.

Frank's smile was not so much because of the swiftness of receiving confirmation of a good pickup, but because Calleigh had reached under the pages with her other hand and caressed his as he reached for the papers. His eyes met hers briefly. He finally remembered to say, "Uh, thanks Calleigh."

Seeing Horatio had finished his call, Calleigh repeated her information handing a second sheaf of papers to him. "Oh, and the gun doesn't show up on any registry of ownership. That doesn't mean a record doesn't exist though. Since it's the type that was issued by the military, back in the late sixties, early seventies, I'm going to see what I can find in military databases. I'll get it to you as soon as I've found anything." Receiving Horatio's whispery thanks, she spun about, and paused just long enough to give Frank a 'look. Then she walked back to the gun lab.

Horatio's chin dropped an inch as he concluded that what he thought he'd seen out of the corner of his extra wide vision range a moment ago had not been an illusion. He smiled his private smile as he examined the information gained from Calleigh's swift work.

Twenty minutes later, the two men greeted Sally Brandt as she stepped out of the elevator.

Without preamble, Horatio explained the purpose of his call to her. "One of the things you said about your analysis of Marky's case was that it smacked of behaviors similar to military disciplines. Do I remember that correctly?"

The three of them felt free to stare at the kid in the interview room who still stood facing the two-way mirror on the other side of the table. As far as Horatio could tell, the kid hadn't moved since he'd started observing him more than forty-five minutes ago.

Sally nodded to Horatio's question and showed a half smile. "And you said this kid had the gun under his mattress?" She had brought a thick file with her. Opening it revealed a page with Delagarza's booking photo. Horatio guessed the papers underneath were a history of the young man's misadventures with the law.

Frank nodded. "Yeah. He also had GSR on his right hand. With his palm and finger prints on the vic's car door, marks on the bullet from the vic matching with marks on another bullet fired from the gun, there's no doubt, he's our shooter. So, why do you need to analyze him? We've got the proof he's guilty, even if he never admits it, so we're done. Right?"

"It's not quite that simple, Frank." Horatio had been thinking so hard about the bullet being the same as what had shot Marky, he'd forgotten he hadn't mentioned his conclusions to the detective. "As you know, Frank, Sally thinks there's a connection between your store/home robberies cases and Marky Samson's murder. You and I hit a dead end with Marky's case but now, here's another association. Frank, we need to find out how Pedro got the gun, and from whom. I have a feeling that Sally, in watching him from behind the mirror, will hear more than we do when we talk with him."

Sally interrupted. "One other thing, when Marky was shot, Pedro was with Juvenile Detention, getting ready for another stay at a camp. He couldn't have been the killer. So, we need to find out how he got the gun. Now, I know you guys don't use psychs so much when questioning, Detective Tripp, but I think I've got some background information that will be very useful in understanding how to get the most out of this kid." She tapped on the file.

Frank couldn't be bothered with all of this. He'd put his hands on his hips almost as soon as the strange looking woman had started talking. He had been already to voice his objections to this fancy work except that now he saw Horatio nodding in agreement. Frank moved back by one step and gestured widely with one hand. "Whatever. I'll just watch and learn, alright?"

In the interview room, Frank stood behind the kid and Horatio purposely stood to one side in front, his legs parted, both hands on his hips. "My name is Horatio Caine. Have a seat, son."

The young man's face twitched in satisfaction as he gazed ahead and remained silent.

Horatio's chin lowered down to his chest as he smiled his own satisfaction. "Alright, what's your name?" He asked in a very quiet voice.

The young man shouted, "Sir! My name is Pedro Jimenez Delagarza! Sir!"

Horatio asked for an address and got it delivered in the same precise manner. Still appearing to be looking down, still speaking quietly, he asked, "Why won't you have a seat?"

"Sir! It would be rude to sit in the presence of my standing superiors. Sir!"

Turning his head ever so slightly to the mirror, ever so slightly raising an eyebrow to the hidden forensic psychologist, he took a seat. Purposely, he'd moved the chair to the far end of the table. "Permission to sit, Delagarza."

Uncertainty played across Pedro's face. Obviously, this version of the scenario had never played out for him.

Frank, losing patience, leaned over Delagarza's ear and spoke decisively. "Sit, kid, like you've been ordered. If you're waiting for me to take a seat, don't! There's only one other chair here and if I sit, you're going to have to sit on my lap. You really want to do that?" While he spoke, he reached around and yanked the chair out from the table

Pedro sat. The military pose broken, he looked like a scared kid.

Horatio turned and laying both arms on the table, he looked at the young man, trying to catch his gaze. He kept his voice quiet, intimate. "Hey! Pedro. Where did you get the gun?"

Obviously, Pedro didn't expect that question. Horatio could see him reviewing in his mind what he'd done to get the gun. Seeming to come to a conclusion, Pedro raised his eyes to stare at the wall below the mirror. He hitched himself so that his back was flat against the back of the chair and he placed his hands flat on his thighs, keeping his arms straight. "Sir! Pedro Delagarza! Sir!"

A soft thump came from the mirror. Horatio rose and casually walked out. "I'll be back in a minute, Frank."

Stepping around the corner from the room, to the area behind the mirror, he faced Sally.

Not taking her eyes from the staring boy, she said, "He got the gun from the same person who's taught him the military 'tude. The switch, as he was thinking about where he got the gun, was almost immediate. From his background outlined in his file, a recent emancipation from a drugged up mother with no father, ever, on the scene, I'd say he's been befriended by a very powerful father figure. It's someone with a strong military background that he's imposed on this kid and the others you told me about. Now, you're not going to get anywhere asking about the gun or who he got it from. I'd suggest going at it sideways, ask him how he's living on his own, right now. Find out what he likes to do, where he hangs out."

Bringing in a large paper cup full of water and placing it in front of Pedro, Horatio took his seat, sipping from his own cup.

Horatio saw that, after eyeing the cup for a couple of seconds, the kid picked it up and quickly drained it. "Frank. Would you be so kind as to get Pedro some more water?"

After another cup had been slapped noisily on the table and ignored, Horatio went on a hunch and asked, "You ever play basketball, Pedro?"

From the glow in his eyes, Horatio knew he'd struck pay dirt. He sat back and said as if musing out loud, "I'm thinking of getting back into playing in my free time. I played some when I was your age but that was in New York. Here, I just don't know where to look. You got a place to play in your area?"

The quick downward dart of Pedro's eyebrows told Horatio to be cautious. He put an elbow on the table and leaned his head on his hand and stared into space. "I live over north of 195." That was a flat out lie but he wanted to relax the kid. By claiming to live in the area that was far from Pedro's, perhaps he feel safer to reveal some information. "Where did you find a place to play? Maybe I can look for something like it over by where I live."

The words came reluctantly, quietly. "A place over by where I live, Ludlam Youth Center."

Since he'd just gotten the information he needed, he decided to push the issue, just in case. "Is that where you got the gun?"

As he expected, Pedro answered by shouting his name and nothing more.

A few minutes later, Horatio was watching Pedro being escorted out by the uniformed officer who'd been waiting outside of the interview room. Thanking Sally for her help, he and Frank escorted her to the elevator.

Walking along side of her, Horatio was saying, "Our next step will be to check on who works at the Ludlam Youth Center. Hopefully we'll find a connection between someone who works or volunteers there or at the Boys and Girls Club of South Miami."

Just as Horatio was about to push the button to summon the elevator, the doors opened to reveal Ryan, Natalia, and Eric. They were escorting a perplexed looking man dressed in bib overalls. Even though Horatio knew the three had gone out to find their jug man two hours ago, he was surprised they were back so soon.

While Ryan and Natalia escorted their catch to the interview room that Pedro had just vacated, Eric quickly filled Horatio in. "We even took a SWAT team with us. I mean, somebody selling radioactive material; you gotta figure he's dangerous. Right?" His dark shadow beard faded slightly as he blushed. "This guy is living out in the middle of no where and doesn't even own a gun! He's about as harmful as a fly! Doesn't even seem to know what's going on."

"Did you check him for radioactivity, Eric?"

Eric smiled. "Hazmat did. They say he sends out a few clicks more than normal but isn't in any way dangerous to others."

"And did you find any of the jugs?"

"Yeah. An old tumbledown shed on the back of the property he's staying on. I just took a quick look at it. I'd say there are about twenty jugs left. Might have been fifty to start with. Hazmat says they have no idea what they're going to do with all of these jugs. They'll let us know."

"And you're going to be questioning him?"

Eric stretched, spreading his arms wide. As the shirt lifted, a bit of his trim waist was exposed "Yeah. We're going to try to figure out if he's working on some plan to kill people off, if he has no idea what he's been selling, or if maybe he's just plain nuts!"

Sally, who'd been standing to one side, waiting, spoke up, "Did I hear my name?"

"You're the one subbing for Pirelli, aren't you? Did I call your name?"

Horatio caught the defensive Eric's attitude and almost uttered a caution.

Ignoring the hostile tone and the second part of the sentence, Sally reached out her hand as she said, "Yup, but my real job is helping you guys figure out whether a perp is nuts or something else; you know, forensic psych. May I volunteer my services here? It might speed up the process."

Horatio relaxed as he saw Eric calm down. He hoped that perhaps Eric was just having a 'bullet in brain' episode. Whatever it had been, he'd successfully controlled it. He took Sally's hand and thanked her for any help she might give. The two then turned away and walked down a corridor that would bring them to the interview room without having to pass by the glass walls.

Surprised by Eric's hostile attitude and then by Sally's cooperative response, Horatio watched them a moment. When he turned to Frank, he went totally blank, not having a clue as to what they'd just been doing or why.

TBC

Anything you wonder about? You can always PM me if public comments aren't your bag.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Standing in front of the elevator's now closed doors, the taller man looked back at Horatio questioning gaze and bluntly drawled, "Ludlam Youth Center." He didn't add the pejorative, 'dumb-ass', which he would have had it been anyone else. Frank had noticed Horatio's turn of attention and wondered about it. He'd seen Horatio bristle before when a team member was acting less than super efficient; this reaction wasn't it. The only other factor here, then, was the strange looking nut-doctor. Was Horatio upset because of the attention Sally was showing Delko? Frank was all too aware of Horatio's proprietary interest in his team, disliked anything that distracted them. Would he be upset if he knew about him and Calleigh? He, himself, sure wouldn't care, one way or the other, but he knew Calleigh would. Well, until something was said, no use thinking about it.

Besides, it wasn't that he had all that much respect for Horatio; he wasn't even sure he liked the quietly spoken redhead. The thing was, the man was too damned proper, stuck too hard to the official line about, 'To serve and protect,' for Frank's way of thinking. Then there was the way Horatio just took over others' cases without so much as a by-your-leave. Frank caught himself going down a useless thought path and brought himself off of it.

Horatio Caine believed he knew what Frank could have said about his momentary lapse and was glad he didn't. Frank, for all of his gruff cowhand edginess, more pretended than actual, was keenly observant. No doubt, he'd seen the reaction he'd had to Delko's reaction. His hand went briefly to his mouth as he gathered his thoughts again about what to do about the information they'd just gained from Pedro Delagarza.

Though Pedro hadn't actually said anything, the indication that he liked to play basketball and that he played at a youth center that was within shouting distance to the place Marky Samson played at was noteworthy. The fact that he'd gotten a gun that could be linked to Marky's murder and therefore to the still on-going robberies meant that whoever he'd gotten the gun from could very well be the one behind the crimes in the last several years. Horatio had an idea of what to look for next.

Knowing that everyone else on the team was occupied with other business, Horatio led the way down the corridor to the newly refurbished A/V lab. Half an hour later, under Horatio's direction, they had more than plenty information.

The new A/V specialist, Samantha, was sharp and had quickly found the information they needed. He had asked if there was a way to find records of employment at the various youth centers in the Miami area. Since most of the centers received county funding in one way or another, she'd said, yes there was a central database of employees. She'd also said, with a twinkle in her eye, that it was supposed to be a confidential database, not open to everyone without the codes. Then she'd added, "I used to work with the group who developed that particular database for Dade County." With that, she'd pulled up the employee records for both the Boys and Girls Club of South Miami and the Ludlam Youth Center. Not only that, but then she showed the records of the background checks run on each person. These, she'd admonished both men, were ultra-confidential and in no way were supposed to be shared or even referred to.

Half an hour later, in the break room, the two men glanced at each other over their coffee cups. One had a look of satisfaction, a caffeine craving satisfied, and the other made a face over the overcooked brew.

"I'll go over to the courthouse and get the search warrants on my way home, Horatio."

Thoughtfully, Horatio replied, "Thank you, Frank. I think Shyrell Olson does look like our best bet."

"Yeah, five years in an Alabama prison for robbery would have given him time to figure out how to do it better."

"And he was working at Boys and Girls Club of South Miami when Marky was killed."

"Which is probably why he quit there and went over to the Ludlam Youth Center. I bet he 'helped out' with the kids after his work hours at the B & G Club like he does now at Ludlam."

"And Ludlam, Frank, is even closer to Coral Gables, where most of the robberies you're concerned with have taken place. I think the kids he was around at South Miami could easily have gone to the Ludlam Center or, at least, stayed in contact with him."

"So, you still think there's a connection, huh? Between the robberies and the murder today?" That remark came out a bit more sharply than Frank had intended.

Horatio always gave credit where it was due. "I'm just following up on Ms. Brandt's idea. Even you've commented on the pattern of precision the robberies seemed to have followed. You saw Pedro's behavior. Olson's father was a Marine Drill Sergeant turned preacher. Several of the kids we think he's been around have displayed what could be interpreted as military drill behavior. I think Ms. Brandt has a point, most definitely."

The police detective shrugged his shoulders and let the matter drop.

Before Frank left, they agreed on a plan for the next day.

When Horatio left the lounge a few minutes later, he noticed Frank walking out the gun lab. There was no doubt now. He only hoped the two continued to keep it at this discreet level.

Meanwhile:

Completely ignoring Ryan's bad-cop attitude, Nate Fontainebleau commented chattily, "Man! Talk about a house of glass! I never seen so much glass! You mebbe don' throw rocks, eh?"

Ryan tried to deepen his voice, "Mr. Fontainebleau, do you know why we brought you in?"

Making a sadly puzzled face, Nate raised his shoulders and dropped them. "Well, from the big to-do y'all made over them jugs, mebbe it's because you think I been sellin' 'em." The Cajun background in his deep southern accent became more pronounced. "Do y'all t'ink I'm mebbe puttin' moonshine in them jugs?"

"You did sell some jugs, then?"

"I ain't sayin' I did." The ingenuous look on his face took on a note of craftiness. "Did'ja find the real owners of those things? Mebbe? I figured they'd been out there so long, the owners was long gone. They can have back what's left."

Ryan, who'd been standing casually on the other side of the table from the seated man, suddenly leaned forward and glared into Nate's face. "Those jugs have killed four people that we know of. I want a list of who else you sold them to."

Nate instinctively turned to Boa Vista, who was playing the good cop. He cried. "What's he sayin'? I ain' killed nobody!"

Natalia remained silent but tried to look sympathetic.

Outside, in the alcove behind the mirror, Sally commented quietly, "He's got no idea of the havoc he's caused. He's not too bright, but he knows how to turn a buck when opportunity arrives."

Eric nodded. "I figured the same thing. The real estate people say they were allowing him to occupy the place for a quarter the price in return for doing repairs on it. They'd gotten it in a public auction."

"Ah! One of those places that's too near the swamps, considered to be an iffy investment, at best. Yeah, that's about this guy's speed. He's just handy enough to do simple repairs, slop paint, maybe work a broom." Sally had encountered both the kind of property and similar fix-it men often in her five-year career of wandering Florida's southeast counties. She shook her head. "I'd say all you're going to get out of him, if you coax nicely, is the areas he sold those jugs in."

Uncrossing her arms, she looked up at the taller, younger man. "So, if that's all you need, I'll be on my way." She knew there was more behind Eric's permission to help with Fontainebleau. She stuck out her hand as if to shake his, thereby giving him time to say more.

Eric glanced quickly over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one was close enough to hear. Still, he nearly whispered his request. Five minutes later, he walked Sally to the elevator and then returned to the interview room.

Standing outside of the room, Eric caught Ryan's eye and motioned him and Natalia outside. He explained what Sally had said about Nate.

"I thought as much," Ryan said, nodding his head. "Okay, so now…." He grinned at Eric.

Eric also grinned as he turned to Natalia, "The good cop goes in and rescues the poor guy; talks nicely to him and gets whatever information she can."

Natalia smiled knowingly. "I knew there was a reason for playing good cop, bad cop. Let me go get a map of the area before I go in."

It didn't take long for Natalia to have Nate's sales route through the edges of the Everglades.

After Nate had been walked out to holding, the team marched with quick resolution to the elevator. Half an hour later, they were headed down Flagler in the large silver Hummer. They were followed by an even larger vehicle clearly marked Hazmat. They had a big job ahead of them; Nate had sold the majority of the jugs to people living in trailer parks around his area. The problem was, he didn't remember who'd bought what at these locations or even how many he'd sold at any one place.

Nate's sales route covered a strip almost fifty miles long but barely six miles wide along the edge of the Everglades Park, east of Miami. His explanation had been that he'd been raised in the bayous of Louisiana and just didn't feel comfortable away from swampland. Besides, he said he'd felt he knew swamp people best. Once he'd gotten the idea to see the jugs, he'd first gone to individual houses, getting the hang of how to take advantage of his windfall. He'd lived barely five miles from Victoria Reeves and only seven in the other direction from Nancy Broward's little home. After a few houses, for convenience sake, Nate had only gone to trailer parks. He said it had saved time, more people in less area than traveling down long roads to a single house.

To expedite the search for the jugs still outstanding, the team used a daisy-chain method at each trailer park. Instead of going to each mobile home and asking each owner if they'd purchased a jug, each team member went to three or four homes. After explaining the emergency, they asked those people to help by going to another's home and then asking that person to go to another's. If anyone owned a jug, he or she was to go to the Hazmat truck. They were instructed not to touch the jugs, if they owned one, merely to report their address to the Hazmat people.

Of the ten mobile home parks they visited in six hours, they found from one to three jugs in most of them. Most of the buyers showed no signs of radiation, proving Delko correct; that people often bought health items and then seldom used them. The twelve people that the Geiger counters reacted to were told to go to the hospital for decontamination. Two others were reported to have died in the last year and another was known to be in the hospital already.

* * *

Late that afternoon, if anyone had taken the trouble to look up from the parking area in front of the MDPD and Crime Scene Investigation Laboratory building, they'd have seen Calleigh and Horatio, framed by the window's casing.

"So, the gun was last registered to a James Olson, a Marine Drill Sergeant back in 1961." Horatio's thoughtful voice purred. He glanced out at the clouds that were blazing in the fiery light of the setting sun.

Calleigh watched a Miami-Dade Probation Department bus pull away. "James Olson left the Corps in 1970. He was married at the time and had had one son, your man, Shyrell. After that, he drops out of all records but I found his wife; Shayna Olson filed tax returns sporadically in Florida, in Georgia and in Alabama. All were in small town areas, most of them located in the back of beyond."

Horatio nodded slowly. "So, we can connect the gun that shot both Marky Samson and the victim in the parking structure, Ms Sorenson, to Shyrell. I wonder how Pedro came to have it in his possession?"

"What's really odd is that the bullets in the magazine are very old military issue. Five rounds have been fired. I'm surprised the gun didn't misfire with bullets that old. Also, I found three sets of prints. One set is very old and so degraded I couldn't get anything to ID. I'm betting those belong to James Olson, though. Then there's one set that belongs to Shyrell, and the latest on the gun matches Pedro's ten-card."

Horatio looked down at this small woman who so loved working with guns and grinned his pleased, closed mouth smile. "Good work, Calleigh."

The sunset's bright colors had faded as they'd talked. While Calleigh beamed her pleasure at the compliment, they were interrupted by Natalia's entrance into the now gloomy office.

"You got a minute, Horatio?" asked Natalia

The two women greeted each other with 'Heys' as Calleigh left and Natalia walked in.

"I hope you have a good case on Mr. Fontainebleau, Ms Boa Vista."

Natalia wondered if her teammates had sent her up here on purpose, knowing their supervisor would question what was being done with the man that had taken so many man-hours to find.

Since she'd been outlining her report in her head already, she was prepared with a ready answer. A few minutes later, Horatio was nodding at all he'd heard. "We have enough of a case for the State's Attorney's office to prosecute this man, right?"

"He's obviously devastated by what those jugs did. We had to run the Geiger counter over him about five times before we'd convinced him he wasn't about to die. Then he asked us to call his pastor." She shook her head. "Oh Horatio, he feels so awful about what's happened."

His chin down to his chest now, Horatio barely whispered, "We all make mistakes, Natalia. When we do, we ask forgiveness. It's all we can do. For some people, that works." Although he was staring down at his right forefinger, cradled by the fingers of his left hand, Horatio was lost in a kaleidoscope of blood-filled settings from his past.

Natalia sensed there was more to those words than were spoken. "I don't think any of the victims or their relatives would blame him. We didn't tell him which ones had died and I don't think he even remembers who he sold the jugs to." Natalia could hardly hear Horatio's next words.

"I'm not sure the State Attourney's Office is going to be of the same view. Whatever comes of this, though, I hope he finds some peace."

Natalia stepped closer to catch what Horatio was saying. Her movement brought him out of his reverie. Leaning over, he snapped on the desk lamp and remarked, "It sounds like you and Ryan and Eric have the case about wrapped up."

Horatio could see that Natalia was obviously pleased at the recognition. He suggested she go write out her report and urged her, when she'd finished, to head on out for the day.

Then, before leaving work himself, Horatio stopped off at first floor to go by Sally's office. He'd planned to give her the news about finding Shyrell and then Calleigh's findings on the gun which confirmed Shyrell's connection to Marky's murder.

Walking down the hallway where MDPD's adjunct departments were located, he was surprised to see Eric coming out of the counselor's office. As they passed each other, Eric looked only a bit discomfited as he acknowledge his superior with a nod and, "H," then headed for the elevator. Horatio had often told his team members that there was nothing to be ashamed of for getting counseling for any reason. He also knew there was still a certain amount of stigma about the idea of needing therapy. After all, how often had he gone even when Internal Affairs Bureau recommended it?

Stepping inside and closing the door, he considered whether to bring it up or ignore it. For some reason, he decided just to ask. "Was Eric here on a case related matter?"

The look from Sally's eyes chilled the room by forty degrees and her mouth twitched a bit. "Do you want to know out of idle curiosity or checking up? Want to know if you've got a crazy on your team?" Her voice was frosty as well.

Prickled by her tone and that look, Horatio answered before he thought, "It's just that you've so often stated that you aren't a nut doctor. Eric is my friend as well as my co-worker. I'd rather not have an unqualified party giving him advice."

"You were quick enough to ask for my help yesterday." '_Jeez, I'm sniping at him like a little kid!_'

"I asked for information in the area in which you've practiced for some time. I took it you haven't practiced clinical psychology in some time." He wanted to add, 'if ever' but refrained.

"Which doesn't mean I'm not well qualified to read a psychological profile and tell whether someone is in need of clinical help or just some advice."

"Then, I suppose I'm questioning your ability to read someone's file well enough to decide. You've said you don't enjoy that line of work. Most people don't like to do what they don't do well."

"No, I've never said I don't enjoy the work and yes, I'm rather good at analyzing someone from their psych analyses. I'll bet yours is rather thick and extremely easy to read."

Not believing what came out of his mouth next, Horatio said, "No doubt I'd be the same mystery as I am now. Why not take a look?"

"I'll let you know what I find. Now, unless you need to leave now to shadow Eric further, can I be of any other service to you?"

Horatio had completely forgotten what he'd come into Sally's office for. Maintaining his face in as much the same look as possible, he continued holding her gaze while his mind fought a storm of emotions. He wanted desperately to figure out how this woman had managed to upset him again but he knew now was not the time for analysis. He'd come here for something other than what it had developed into; '_what was it? Damn! How could she fluster me so easily?_' He had come here to tell her… That was it! Outwardly, the pause between Sally's question and Horatio's answer was almost unnoticeable.

"We're going out to pick up a likely candidate for Marky's murder tomorrow. You wanted to be in on the interrogation. We should be bringing him in for questioning by the late morning."

Sally had noticed the hesitation and would have given anything to know what had caused it. "Good, just give me a call when you're ready." She tried to sound casual, off-handed, as if she didn't care about the matter.

Almost turning to leave, he remembered, and said, "It may be a day or two before I'm done with this case. I'll be curious to see what you've made of my file when I have the time to see you again."

After Horatio had left, it was some time before Sally even thought to breathe, much less move. When she did, it was more of a gasping sigh giving her a feeling of release. Now, where was she before the interruption? Oh yes, looking at Eric Delko's file, about to make some notes.

Inserting a piece of paper into Eric's file, she began writing almost as fast as she thought. She'd determined, in the hour of talk with the younger man, that he was certainly fit for duty, that he was probably just going through another phase of the healing process from the injury. He could probably use another three or four hours of talk about why he was so easily angered over frustrating circumstances, to help him find alternative thinking for dealing with it. He mostly needed reassurance and reminders that the brain healed in very peculiar ways sometimes.

Sally paused briefly in her mad scribbling as her thoughts flowed. She had to stop herself from writing down 'make sure he's okay, help him all you can' and otherwise show an intention to play mother hen. Not practicing clinical psych wasn't because she didn't care; it's that she cared too damned much! Ah! No wonder she'd just taken the bait from Lieutenant Caine. He didn't know it but he'd caught her doing what she shouldn't be doing; displaying her own tendency to care for, take care of patients. She'd displaced the guilt feelings with anger and had jumped all over him.

Had anything else happened? Yes. First of all, didn't the man know the protocol about never questioning why a member of the force came in or out of this office? Who did he think he was? Then she remembered he'd merely inquired about Eric's presence, probably out of curiosity, and that she'd gotten protective. Why had she risen to the bait? Because he'd dared to throw something she'd joked about into her face, that's why. '_Learn to shut your fat mouth, Sally! You've got better manners than that. Better training too!_' Why was it he always seemed to get flustered around her? Yeah, maybe it was her crazy looks; maybe it was the idiot things she said. Why was it she said stupid things to him, said anything at all that was self-revealing? What was it about this man besides the delicious golden red hair that begged for a hand to caress it, those blue eyes that made you want to dive into them, plumb their depths… '_Shut up, brain!_' she chided herself.

TBC

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	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The next morning, Sally was in the office early. After last evening's conversation with Horatio, she had some work to do. She'd gotten comfortable in the wing-backed armchair, her bare feet drawn up to one side as she sat tucked into the corner, prepared for at least an hour's reading. At first, she'd hoped that the slimness of Horatio's psych file simply meant there were complete notes in concise, perhaps small type. Instead, she'd found Lieutenant Caine's entire file could be read in less than fifteen minutes. Primarily, there were a few pages of notations, that had been filed by clerks. Most were a number of strong recommendations from Internal Affairs Bureau that Horatio Caine see the department counselor in regards to on-duty shooting deaths. Two of the recommendations were not for kills, but were rather related to a case involving the death of his wife, and then a year later, the wounding of his teammate, Eric Delko. His wife's death had been noted only because her killer was someone in a case he'd been involved with. However, there was no evidence that Caine had responded to any recommendations, save the very earliest in the file.

The rest of the pages consisted of his personal history, a police officer in New York City, early promotion to detective, the move to Miami, time spent with the bomb squad, a move to becoming a criminalist, rise to the rank of lieutenant, then becoming head of the day team in the Crime Scene Investigation Laboratory. The only thing of incredible interest to her was the first IAB recommendation for counseling when he'd been a blue in New York. Apparently, he'd been involved in the shooting death of his own father! The details of the occurrence were no doubt in his main file. According to the old notes, he did go in for two sessions with the counselor. If she remembered right, however, back in those days, New York law enforcement wasn't interested in helping its officers, only in making sure they were cleared for continuing duty. They barely gave a head nod to anything like counseling, so his having gone in twice was noteworthy in itself. The faded writing was mostly unreadable anyway. Sally did recognize the words Catholic and priest in the scribbled notes. Perhaps, she mused, he'd been turned off by the so-called counseling of the department and had turned to his childhood training, going to his priest in times of trouble. She wondered if, perhaps, he still did. For sure, he didn't get any department counseling after that.

Okay, so what did she know now? Not much more than what she'd gleaned from her few conversations with him. His constantly serious demeanor was probably derived from whatever darkness had led him to shoot his father while on duty. Aside from recommendations from the terse IAB recommendations and the sparse notes of the time from so long ago, the only revelation here was that he was a Catholic. That was about it.

The thought of his religion led her to wonder if he wore a crucifix under his shirt. This led to wondering what else was under the shirt. Did those freckles go all the way down? '_Stop! Suppose you have to counsel him_?' This led to thinking of what it would be like, talking quietly with this man about his deepest, most inner thoughts, about what he might reveal. Pain, no doubt. He'd lay his head against her bare breast while she ran her fingers—'_Stop_!'

No wonder the guy gave her permission to look at his file! He knew there was nothing in it! Yeah! Sure! Read it, and then prove you know how to read a psych file! And she'd taken the bait!

Ah! But wait a minute, there's more than one way to skin a cat, isn't there? How often before had she had to profile a perp with this little information to go on? After all, she'd had access to Horatio several times already. Sally grabbed up the notebook she always had tucked into a pocket of her skirt and started making notes. Ordinarily, profiling someone she worked with was a no-no but, not only was this relationship temporary, he'd asked for it. '_Well, hadn't he_?'

She started writing down her observations, then stopped to find the right words. She laid her head back and stared in space. Aside from the good looks, the perfect color of his bright red-gold hair, the beautiful blue eyes, the way he filled out a tuxedo, the quiet, comforting somberness of his voice… '_Stop!_' She started in earnest making notes in her scribbled semi-shorthand. He'd shot his own father, but apparently in the line of duty (in file). He's duty bound, beyond the obligation to family (from conversation). She knew that statistics have proven that men who kill their father have most often done so in self-defense or to save another close family member. Hmmm, but in this case, the man was in uniform when he did it. That could mean that, even then, he spent more time being a cop than not. In any case, it must have deeply affected him. Then, a few years ago, his wife had been killed. No clue about how long married. He'd been in law enforcement all of his adult life (in file). Anyone in law enforcement experiences huge amounts of painful experiences, emotionally and physically. Such onslaughts on the psyche will harden a man, break him, or quiet him; observations indicated quiet in Horatio's case, since broken, he's not. He was rebellious but only enough to play by a few of his own rules (deduced from lack of comments in his file indicating he didn't follow the orders go to counselors). Yet, he must have impressed his superiors; they trusted his judgment enough that they never suspended him or even reprimanded him for not going to counseling. He did play enough of the corporate rules that he'd made detective at a very young age and was now head of a whole team. Obviously, his team thought highly of him. Conclusions so far: he was honorable; he worked well with others when he was of a mind to, but generally thought outside of the box, which probably helped in his line of work.

The frosty eyed woman put her notebook down in frustration. '_Great! So, if I were an employer, I'd hire him! Think, girl! He wants to hear something out of you that no one else knows!_' A thought stuck her. '_How do you know? Maybe he wants to be sure you don't know anything, that his cover hasn't been penetrated_.'

She reviewed everything she could remember of the interactions with him. He'd never acknowledged that she'd caught him napping that first time. Even the other day, when he was perfectly relaxed in her office, he only spoke of business related matters. He never referred to his being tired or happy or any kind of emotion or state of being. '_He replaces personal information with a work ethic_.' Not a noisily, like some people who almost shout, look at me and notice how hard I'm working. He goes about his work quietly. He indicates his accomplishments by inference to what he's done already. He seemed to prefer a uniform look in that he always wears a black suit and deep colored striped shirts all the time. He also knows how to dress well, as evidenced by that tux at the gala the other night, so the work clothing might be catering to orders/recommendations, perhaps. But why did he accommodate those orders? So as to remain unknown, perhaps? '_Not showing a taste in clothing, wearing a proscribed uniform could be a way of hiding the personality, couldn't it?'_

'_Okay, given that you're right, kiddo, that you're not just seeing things that aren't there, is it worth it to prove to him that you're right, that you can read a psych profile even when there's nothing in it? If you do prove you're right, he'll feel vulnerable and run like hell. Perhaps he'll even exclude you from any further information on the Samson case. You want to run that risk?_' She shifted her posture in the chair as she mentally took up the other side of the argument. '_But if you allow him to be right, claim you can't psychologize him, he'll think that you're not qualified to talk with Eric Delko. He seems to think there's something wrong with not wanting to psych anyone. Okay, I never said I didn't 'want to.' Ah! But he heard otherwise. And as far as he's concerned, 'you does your duty, no matter what'. By his lights, if I didn't want to do the whole job here, I should have refused it entirely._'

Sally considered her arguments. '_Great! He's got me into a corner! I prove me right and he'll avoid me, possibly deny me the satisfaction of working on that Samson case. On the other hand, if I allow him to be right, he'll have no respect for me and so, avoid me and possibly deny me the satisfaction of working on that Samson case!_'

Sally grabbed her notebook and thrust it into her pocket as she decisively rose to her feet. '_You're just mad because this wasn't easy! There was little information in the file and that's that. There's a good answer in this little puzzle, someplace, an answer that will satisfy both him and my manipulative little heart. Meanwhile, drop it_!'

Taking her own advice, she picked up Horatio's file and left her office. She casually strolled down the hall and into a room which only she and a few others had legal entry; the police employee file room. In the super modern building, this was the only remnant of the 'old ways' of doing things. The information in employees' files had yet to be entered into the Florida Law Enforcement Databanks. She knew it was in process and that it was a matter of time until this room would be emptied of files and converted to some other purpose.

To get into the room, she had to use her ID badge and allow a retina scan. Once inside, she found Caine's employee file folder and again ignored the temptation to take a peek. Like everyone with access to these files, anyone who was not a licensed psychologist or psychiatrist could not legally access the psych file. In the same way, she wasn't supposed to look at his work file unless he offered complete permission. He'd only given her permission to look at his psych file and she was honor bound not to push that limitation. Eventually, when the information was entered into computers, she would automatically be locked out and no such temptation would be available. Not that gaining information would give her any insight above and beyond what she had already. Knowing his badge number in New York or his length of time in blues or in plain clothes would only give context in a dimension she didn't really need.

TBC

Like any writer, I live for comments, good or bad. Thank you.

Author's note: for the background of how/why Horatio shot his father, please refer to my story: Mother Love.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The next morning, as Frank had expected, Horatio answered his cell as if he'd been up for hours. No doubt he had been. Blearily, Frank resented the man's single-minded fortitude. After four late nights with Calleigh, he was finding it harder and harder to drag his butt out of bed in the morning. He knew he should be catching up on his Z's, but wow, he'd enjoyed spending the time with that incredible woman. Even though he'd had two cups of coffee before he'd left his apartment, he now hoped to grab a supersize cuppa joe at any mini-mart on the way. "I'm about twenty minutes out." He'd just swung off of the freeway onto the road that would take him to the youth center and, by happenstance, by a number of mini-marts..

"Your coffee's going to get cold."

"Make that ten minutes out." After hearing where Horatio was parked, Frank snapped the phone shut and pulled back into the center lane of the boulevard.

Forty minutes later, at the Ludlam Youth Center, trying to look like dads seeking information about the facility for their kids, the tall redhead, and the taller bald man located the Center's director. They very discreetly showed their badges and asked where the janitor was. They were happy to hear the man they were looking for was present, working. Instead of taking the director's directions, just to be sure no alert was given, they asked him to take them to where the man was working.

As they walked, the director chatted. "He's been around for about three years, I think. Works like the devil to keep ahead of the mess and graffiti the kids leave. When he gets off, he usually joins the kids to help with their basketball skills." He ducked his head and, continuing in a lower voice, said, "Shyrell can't play basketball worth a damn but he's sure got a way with the kids." At the lack of response from either man, he went quiet and kept on walking.

Frank privately had no doubt that, if Horatio's assessment of how the kids had been affected was correct, the man definitely had a way with kids.

They'd been led outside of the building and around to the area in back. Here was a narrow strip of dirt divided from the busy street on the other side by a long stretch of six-foot hurricane fencing. Frank saw with a sinking feeling that the other end of this alley was open.

Aboutfour feet from the corner they'd just rounded was a man dressed in khaki brown shirt and pants. He sported a duckbilled cap of the same color. The front of the cap had a large off white patch with the word Custodian in yellow letters. With skin only slightly darker than his clothing, the short man was rolling paint onto the wall to cover the latest gang graffiti. Pausing briefly when he saw the men appear, as soon as he recognized the center director, he went back to rolling the paint.

Frank immediately took the opportunity to walk behind the man and to the other side, down the five-foot wide path. He stood, his legs spread, blocking any possible escape. In the sleep deprived mood he was in, he would have welcomed any attempt to pass him.

There was no need for the precaution. On hearing the announcement of who the two men were, the janitor calmly picked up the bucket of paint and walked toward the director and Horatio saying, "I need to put the equipment away."

Frank watched Horatio step forward, stop, and push both sides of his jacket back revealing both his badge and his pistol. He quietly ordered the man to put the paint and the roller down, announced that he was under arrest on suspicion of providing a lethal weapon to a minor which had resulted in a homicide, and to place his hands on top of his head.

Without batting an eye, Shyrell calmly did as he was instructed and Frank stepped closer behind him. First, taking Shyrell's right hand down and behind his back, he brought out a pair of handcuffs and slipped one onto the wrist. Then, he took the left hand and did the same. There was absolutely no resistance. When both cuffs were secured, Frank laid a hand on the man's shoulder. This was to show him who was in control now.

Horatio also informed Shyrell of the issue of a warrant to search his living quarters which was taking place as they spoke. The small man seemed to be checking the words he heard against an internal laundry list of some sort. Apparently finding the list was in order with the speech, Frank felt him imperceptibly straighten and nod ever so slightly.

At the end of Horatio's litany, Frank pushed at Shyrell's back to direct him to move forward. As Horatio stepped aside, Shyrell almost immediately transformed to the roll of a staunchly heroic soldier, held by the enemy. It was also far more practiced than the one Pedro had displayed.Through hishand on the man's shoulder, Frankcould feel his posture straightening as he walked, could almost feel the khaki garments become pressed and creased, like a uniform. Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he took on a martial bearing, his chin tucked, his gaze, no doubt, unwavering from the horizon line.

While he put the man into the patrol car, Frank could tell that questioning him later wasn't going to be easy for Horatio. The trick here would be to find a way through the façade of 'the captured hero who gives up nothing to the arch villain.'

Tripp gave final instructions to the officer who'd take Shyrell to the station and returned to Horatio. "So, you think this guy is also the mastermind behind the robberies?"

"I do, Frank. He certainly fits the profile. You have remarked that those break-ins were clearly and carefully planned. Ms Brandt thinks that may indicate a military mind. His father was a Marine Drill Sergeant. Also, he's no stranger to crime after serving five years for breaking and entering. He definitely has had the chance of being in contact with all of the kids we interviewed so far. All of them show evidence of a military influence."

Frank drew himself up, ran his hands around the inside of his belt line to smooth down his shirt, and sighed. "I sure hope so. I'm sick and tired of these robberies."

Horatio smiled. "I imagine the citizens of the Coral Gables area are even more so."

Frank almost cracked back with, 'Yeah, ya-da, ya-da, crap!' Instead, he held his peace. These late nights with Calleigh were wearing him down!

* * *

A couple of hours later, Horatio watched Shyrell from behind the two-way mirror in the lab's interrogation room. Most people, when waiting for questioning, fidgeted and fretted. In doing so, they gave many clues about themselves. Shyrell hadn't moved once since he'd been brought in, had seldom even blinked. Without the movement, Horatio was at a loss as to how to figure out how to get information out of him. 

Only half of his attention was on the problem anyway. He knew Sally would have some ideas about how to get information out of this man, but he hesitated at the idea of calling her. Before he summoned her, he wanted to figure out just how he could talk to the woman without getting into another dispute. He'd been so out of line last night! It was none of his business whether she did Vince Pirelli's job, was capable of doing it, or knew nothing about it! Obviously she was a fine forensic psychologist, so why wasn't that enough?

His brain felt heavy. Although Horatio was pretty sure he'd sounded his usual focused self all morning, he wasn't. It had seemed as if he'd hardly gotten any sleep at all the night before. Instead, he'd tossed and turned, dreaming the same sequence over and over. Those hasty words, so atypical of him, daring her to look at his psych file played out repeatedly. He would be in her office, facing her angry look. He'd dare her to analyze him.Waiting for her to refuse his dare, just as she was about to answer, he'd waken. First, he tried simply closing his eyes to go back to sleep but after the third or fourth reiteration he tried turning over. Then he tried pounding his pillow and once, even got up for a glass of water. Each time, the dream resumed with him facing her, daring her, hoping for a different answer. By dawn, he'd given up. When Frank had called, he'd been on his fifth cup of coffee.

Now, still trying to figure an angle on Shyrell, he tried to ignore the very small voice that kept pestering him about Sally's refusal to do Pirelli's full job. Why should he care, he'd asked, and the voice had plainly said, '_because, any woman you're interested in should be ready, willing and able to perform in all aspects of her field_.' He wasn't even aware of the smaller, lesser voice that echoed, '_woman you're interested in, you're interested in, interested in, you _are_ interested…" _because he was dialing Sally's number.

* * *

Earlier, in the morning of that same day, in the same interrogation room, Ryan and Natalia again posed point to counterpoint against Nate Fontainebleau. They'd had to bring him back from the Miami-Dade jail under orders from Assistant State's Attorney Rebecca Nevins. She'd insisted they needed a further statement from him to justify the charges they were holding him on. That he'd sold the jugs that had probably caused the deaths of at least seven people was indisputable. That he'd been innocent of the knowledge needed clarification. Besides, ASA Nevins was a bitch and liked to make trouble for the CSI's just because she could. 

It didn't take much of an effort to get him to elaborate. His words flowing as only people from the Cajun country can make them, his accent was more pronounced that ever. "I think you believe me to be an evil man. As the Lord is my witness, I tell you I ain't. I only done what I did to live."

Ryan tried to look casual while asking what only seemed to be random questions. "What did you do before you came to the Miami area?"

Fontainbleau waived a hand negligently. "At home, in Louisiana (he pronounced it as Loozy-ana), sometimes, maybe I cheat a little, steal some. Oh, I work! Don' get me wrong! I swept up the sidewalks in front of stores, I wash windows. I work hard when I can. Sometime, I fin' a nice lady, I smile, she smile, and she mebbe buy us dinner, mebbe more." He shrugged his shoulders with a small smile on his lips. "But sometime, things don' go so well for meand maybe I bent the law some, to live. Sometime, I borried some from some people. Mebbe, sometime, I forgot to ask first. For that, I spent some times in jail. Finally, I thought mebbe I need a vacation. God, mebbe, heard my thoughts, and so one day, he made a nice wallet fall out of a man's pants. I was outside the mall, holding out my hat and it happened, just like that! Man is walking by and poof! This wallet was there when he was gone. It had $302.54! I knew then that God don't wan' me holdin' my hat like some beggar-man. I remember because, one day, I swear to God, I'll pay the man back!"

It was all Ryan could do to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the tale. Natalia, standing behind Nate, didn't hesitate to roll hers and added a shake of her head in disgust at the blatant lie.

Nate continued. "So, I went to the Greyhound Bus station. Four miles I walked! I got a ticket for the next bus to the only other place in the world I know; here! I'd heard about this place all my life and so I had to come!" Here the crafty personality almost returned. "I, of course, also hoped the police here have mebbe not heard of me like the police at home have. I kinda needed a rest in that way as well."

Ryan looked over Nate's head at Boa Vista in disbelief at the man's honest simplicity. She shrugged her shoulders with a look on her face that meant 'it takes all kinds'.

"Imagine how happy I was to find these places with as much water as the Bayous. Not enough trees but, oh well, you takes what you gets. So, I walked and found a house that was for rent and could use some fixin'. I move from there to another place, same thing. Then I move to where you found me. As long as I mebbe fix a little here, mebbe a little there, I get to live there. The lan'lord, he don't charge me so much as long as I fix, but then, he don't pay me so much, either. What I had left from the wallet didn't last, so I had to find ways to get food. I don't need that much, but I don't live on air. Then, I found this old shack in back of this place with these jugs. On a top shelf, I saw one old piece of paper that says that these Revigorator jars can make you feel good. That all you do is put water in and overnight, it makes the water good. Me, I don't think I can be mo' better, but, already, I met a few old folks who mebbe can. So, I figured they would mebbe give me some money for a jar that does so much for just water."

Here, Nate almost broke into tears. "I can read! I read real good! I got gold stars in school for reading! I know there was nothing about these jars killing no one!"

Not being able to help himself, Wolfe explained. "What you read was written before anyone knew about the harmful effects of radiation. A long time ago."

Natalia spoke up more sympathetically. "You didn't miss a thing. It just didn't say."

Nate looked up hopefully. "So, mebbe, I am okay? Mebbe, I can go home now? You took those jugs away. I'll tell everyone I am sorry. I promise. Okay?"

Ryan raised his hand to his mouth and tried to think of some way to make the truth sound appealing and couldn't. "Mr. Fontainebleau, have you ever heard that 'ignorance of the law is no excuse?'

Nate shook his head. The look on his face said he knew he wasn't going to like the explanation.

Ryan sighed and closed his eyes in discouragement. Opening them, he tried to be the cool, collected guardian of the law he'd seen Horatio be so often. "It means that even though you didn't know you were breaking a law, you still committed a crime and must be punished according to the law. People died because of what you did. We have to file charges against you."

Nate seemed to crumple like a crushed paper bag. He leaned forward, his arms around his midsection, as if in pain.

Boa Vista spoke up. "Mr. Fontainebleau, are you sure you don't want a lawyer? Maybe you should get one."

Ryan looked sharply at her. Every word was being recorded and would be carefully scrutinized by Nevins. Natalia had almost blown a case before by trying to be helpful. Well, it was too late now. His eyes switched back to the man folded down into his chair.

Fontainebleau's head was almost down to his knees. After a long, dark moment, both of the officers could see the barest nod of his head. In spite of his caution Ryan, as well as Natalia, let out a huge sigh of relief. Now, that he'd requested a lawyer, they could stop questioning, stop having to listen to the unguarded, too sad confession.

Boa Vista turned and nodded to the police officer standing outside of the room. Nate was led out with assurances that a public defender would be in to see him as soon as was possible.

Natalia, her brow furrowed, her large brown eyes welling up, turned to Ryan. "That poor man! I feel so badly for him. All he was trying to do was make a living."

"By making a whole series of bad choices, Natalia. This was just a culmination of poor judgment. His actions caused the death of at least seven people. Yeah, he didn't do it on purpose, and maybe he'll never have the chance to do it again…" Ryan paused, at a loss for words. He had so many feelings, only a few of which were a proper police officer's feelings. Then he remembered something. "And none of this is our concern. It's all in the hands of the courts, now."

Natalia looked at him in her big sister way and poked her elbow into his ribs. "Oh, give me a break! You feel sorry for him too!"

Ryan's eyes dropped as he tried to hide an embarrassed grin. "Me? Feel sorry for a perp? Nah, never happen."

* * *

"Marky's killer? You really think you have him?" Sally's voice had all but squeaked in her giddy reply. "Oh, Horatio, I am so glad to hear that! Sure, I can be there in a few minutes." 

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Horatio noted with relief that, when she'd heard his voice, Sally had greeted him as if nothing had passed between them the evening before. Perhaps he'd been mistaken in thinking she'd turned hostile. He hoped so. Since he hadn't ever gone to Pirelli for evaluation or to anyone else since that first time those many years ago, he sure didn't care to have this woman poking around in his file. It wasn't often that he regretted words hastily spoken; his habit was to measure his words carefully. The feeling of discomfort was new for him so he grasped at any hint of release. Perhaps she'd just forgotten all about last night.

Sally's feelings were also hopeful. So, perhaps he hadn't meant the challenge? If not, should she just not admit she'd already looked at the psych file? Well, why should she? After all, she'd found nothing except the notation about his religion and that was what, twenty or more years ago? If he had meant the challenge, was he letting it slide? Did he want to let it go? Come to think of it, was it all that important? She considered. No, most definitely not. '_If he wants me to evaluate him, let him tell me, again.'_ She knew, however, she'd do it anyway, partly because the gauntlet had been laid down and mostly because she was, after all, curious about him.

All the time she was thinking about Horatio, her fingers had been busy at the keyboard. She pulled up Shyrell's file and speed-reading through most of his history, she confirmed his family background and then his arrest record. Armed with the information, she headed for the elevator.

Half an hour later, standing with Sally behind the two-way mirror, Horatio filled her in on the evidence and his behavior since the arrest. Both took note that though he was standing still, facing the mirror, Shyrell's eyes were busy, taking in the scenery behind him.

As he talked, Horatio could see Sally looking out from an inward view, overlaying what she knew of this criminal on top of what she was seeing now. There was something very satisfying in working with her on this level, could relate to her methods. Before he could dwell on the thought any longer, she spoke up.

"Up until Shyrell was about five years old, his father had been a Marine Drill Sergeant. From the records on him, Olson had been in the military for ten years previous to Shyrell's birth. However, he was listed as a preacher in Shyrell's school records. How or why the father went from Drill Sergeant to preacher, I don't know. They moved around for a number of years in Shyrell's childhood. His schools show eastern Georgia, Pascagoula, Mississippi and even here in Miami, until they'd settled in a northern Alabama parish."

Sally paused briefly before interjecting, "Having personally escaped from that particular part of the world when I was sixteen, I'd say his family must have had a rough time of it with a white father and a black mother. Even thirty years after Selma, the people of both colors in that area could be really intolerant." Sally's eyes seemed to dim for a moment.

The moment passing, she continued in a more clinical tone of voice, "I'd say that to keep his son in line, Preacher Olson probably drilled his son in both Marine perfect orderliness and in believe-or-go-to-hell gospel. Somewhere along the line, though, Shyrell forsook that training and found robbery as a preferable alternative. No hint why. In his teen years, he was caught several times, reprimanded, and returned to his parents. When he became an adult, Alabama decided they'd had enough of his shenanigans and put him into prison for five years. I imagine he learned a few things about better ways to commit his crimes, plus he had time to review what his daddy taught him. By the time he got out, he'd combined the two; better planning with military precision and then, he added in troop loyalty. For himself, he's sharp-crease intent on not being broken down by the enemy no matter what.

"Now, considering that frame of mind, we need something that will change it rather than break it. I think, to shake him up, we need to make him believe his men are betraying the Corps." She paused only briefly. "You said you'd interviewed some kids that you believe were part of his gang; can you bring some of them in?"

Sally was almost surprised to see Horatio glance shyly at her and then drop his chin down to his chest with a smile. Those were the signs of a man being personally pleased with and or attracted to a woman. For a man who was on guard against her, afraid that some personal information had been divined (or at least, had given every sign of it lately), this was very interesting behavior. She filed it away for future reference.

For his own part, Horatio found himself briefly wondering if the MDPD budget would stand for a forensic psych of its very own. From the time he'd called her, she'd read a file, looked briefly at the man and had come up with a plan. He didn't realize how his trust and belief in the woman had grown immensely. Nor, as his mind grappled with how best to carry out the plan she'd outlined, did he realize how much his personal interest in her had developed.

TBC

Comments?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Within an hour of Sally's judgment, Tooky Lesur from the Boys and Girls Club of South Miami, was brought in to the lab hallways. A moment later, the kid Horatio and Tripp had interviewed at the store, and another youngster that the director of the Ludlam Youth Center had mentioned, were brought in. Meanwhile, Pedro Delagarza had been brought up from the MDPD holding cells downstairs. Placing them carefully so that all were out of hearing range, but within view of the mirror's reflection, for Shyrell's benefit, the boys were interviewed. Each was under the care of Delko, Calleigh, Ryan and Natalia, or Tripp. Also, the young men were seated facing away from the interview room. The team members, as instructed, occasionally looked at Shyrell as if they were hearing information that might pertain to him. Actually, they were merely asking questions about what the kids liked to do and why they liked it.

Meanwhile, Horatio and Sally went upstairs to Horatio's office. This could have been a mistake if they'd taken the time to talk; since neither one knew exactly what was going on in the other's mind, the tension between them was palpable. At last, when each was about to stumble over their first words about the previous day, Horatio's phone trilled from his jacket pocket. Within seconds, Sally's phone buzzed in her pocket. For the next hour, both were kept busy tracking down and verifying information pertaining to other cases.

Although apparently lost in their own conversations, each took note of the other's behavior, body language, and type of conversation. Although not quite understanding some of the jargon, Horatio heard Sally's eagerness to figure out a person's behavior from clues left by bits of evidence at a crime scene. Sally heard the quiet determination of Horatio voice, as he worked to verify information from apparently hesitant sources. Working different cases but doing it nearly side by side, the two found approval level of the other rising considerably.

While she talked, Sally also watched Shyrell in the room on the floor below. Finally, snapping her phone shut and dropping it backinto the skirt pocket, she turned to Horatio and said, "Methinks our man down there might be ready to speak."

Horatio could feel Sally's excitement. Her eyes became more luminous and her body looked electrically alive. She was at the top of her game now, seeing a theory become actuality.

The two headed downstairs and parted company at a hallway crossing so that Sally could slip into the alcove behind the mirror, unseen by Shyrell, while Horatio could approach in full view in broad determined strides.

As planned, Shyrell was worn out from standing the three and a half hours. To Sally, he also appeared distraught. It must have looked to him like members of his gang were spilling their insides to the enemy. Hopefully, he'd feel as if he had to do something, say something to protect himself. He couldn't threaten the boys now with damnation, or remind them of the pride of being part of a group. Sally hoped that,seeing it was too late, all he would be able to hope todo now is mitigate the damage by giving his side of the story.

The rest of the planned breakdown was to be in Horatio's attitude, which they'd briefly discussed. Taking Sally's advice, rather than go in showing his authority, he approached with almost submissive politeness.

First, walking towards the glass walled room so he could be seen, Horatio observed, with some satisfaction, that Shryrell's head had lowered at the sight of him. The custodian seemed to seek a strength that was hard to find. When he heard a light knocking against the doorframe, he looked as if he could barely raise his head to look in the mirror. Because of the angle of reflection, though, Shyrell couldn't quite see the door and finally was forced to look over his shoulder to see who it was. Horatio seemed to stand hesitantly at the entrance to the room. When Shryrell looked at him, he asked if he might come in.

Sally was glad to see the puzzled look pass over the coffee-cream colored features. So far, so good. Olson was being kept off balance.

Horatio guessed that the puzzled look was what Sally had meant when she'd told him to take advantage of every break in the military 'act'. As if he were taking the silence as permission, Horatio entered. Giving the man plenty of room, he walked around the table and sat, first moving the chair to the end of the table, his back to the mirror. Noting that Shyrell kept a wary eye on him, another break in the military stance, he gestured at the chair near to the man. "You've been standing a long time. You must be tired. Won't you please have a seat?"

Behind the mirror, Sally wished the lab had some stealth equipment. She wanted to be able to whisper into Horatio's ear; tell him what questions to ask of Shyrell and how to put them. For maximum information, when he started to talk, it would have been nice to feed the information as she read the body language and the face twitches. She'd bet her best blouse that Horatio could probably read most things just fine, but, she figured anyone could use a little help now and then. The thought of helping this redhead, in any way, fascinated her.

Waiting for Shyrell to respond, Horatio turned his chair sideways to the table and fixed his gaze out the windows at the lush vegetation beyond. He tried to look as if he hadn't a care in the world. Finally, he glanced over to the man who was eyeing him curiously while trying to seem not to. Slanting his brows upward and smiling as he would at a child, he gesturedat thechair again. "Please, wouldn't you like to sit?"

There is something about an invitation, issued politely and without conditions that many people, under certain circumstances, can't resist. As if he were considering the matter, judging whether there was any danger to his welfare, Shyrell first glanced over to the remaining chair, glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and then down. When he did sit, he didn't have the strength to take the soldier-seated-at-attention position. Instead, he slumped as if some air had been let out of his frame. He even turned the soles of his work boots inward, so that they were facing each other, to relieve all of the weight from the bottoms of his feet.

Horatio allowed nearly a minute to tick by before he said, "Did you know that Pedro stole a gun from you?" He'd put his elbow on the table and leaned his head against his hand. He almost seemed to be speaking to someone outside of the window, he seemed so remote from the scene.

Before Shyrell could automatically deny any connection to any gun, Horatio continued. "It's the one your father had when he was in the service."

Horatio turned, folded his hands as if in prayer, his elbows out on the table. His chin almost down to the glass surface, he looked earnestly up into Shyrell's face. "The one with your fingerprints on it."

Waiting only a few beats now, he almost whispered, "The one Pedro used to kill a city council member's wife the other night." He sat up, turned sideways again, and went back to staring out the window.

As if musing about the meaning of life, Horatio continued talking. "Now, Pedro says he took the gun because he wasn't making as much from his cut of the jobs as you'd said he would. So he decided to do a little job on his own. We're still not sure what spooked him, why he shot Sonia Sorenson. He says the gun had a hair trigger, just went off without him meaning for it to. We're having our ballistics expert check that out now."

Horatio paused only briefly. His voice level remained steady, almost soothing as he purred, "You know, its funny how one thing leads to another. I mean, of course we had to ask if he'd done those jobs alone. He admitted he couldn't have. It didn't take long before he gave us names, who gave us other names. We just pulled in a few more."

Horatio turned to face Shyrell again. "One man on this case says that what these boys are telling us coincides almost exactly with a series of crimes he's been working on for quite some time. According to him, the robberies are a wonder in of precision and timing."

Horatio wondered if Sally had caught the twitch of Shyrell's lips from where she was standing, wondered what she made of it. He wished briefly the lab could get equipment that would allow secret communication between interviewer and observer.

"All the kids we brought in say you told them what to do, too. If that's so, you should write a book about how you did it. How long has it been? Two years of getting away, scot-free?"

Looking up for the first time, Shyrell smiled as he said, "Over three and a half."

Horatio nodded trying to look interested instead of disgusted. "We figure the first was that house over on Clear View Terrace."

Shyrell stretched out his legs under the table as he corrected Horatio, giving the right location of the first robbery.

Horatio didn't even look up when Frank quietly slipped through the open door.

For several minutes, Horatio asked questions about how the jobs had been set up, how he got the kids to work so well. To each reply, he shook his head as if marveling at the perfection. He didn't think Shyrell even noticed when he rose to his feet. The custodian kept on describing how he set up each maneuver; how he only gave one job to each kid and drilled them over and over in each move to make. He added that he rewarded them with rises in rank from plebe to private and up to top sergeant. The tone of his voice showed that he knew he'd handed out empty titles which meant nothing. He also bragged on how well the kids followed orders finishing with, "We sure had you cops running in circles."

Leaning forward, his hands on the table, interrupting the brag, Horatio's voice changed from the hypnotic purr to venomous stab. "So, tell me, Shyrell, if all of these kids were so good at what they did, why did you kill Marky Samson?"

Before the useless denial could be stated, Horatio nodded to Frank. Coming up from behind, the detective laid out a series of photographs on the table.

Pointing first to one, Horatio announced that that wasthe bullet recovered from Sonia Sorenson. Pointing to the next picture of another bullet, he said that it was the bullet from Marky which matched the first one.Thefirst and second bullets,he said,pointing at the third photo, matched the exemplar fired recently from the same gun; the gun with Shyrell's fingerprints on it.

Then, he pointed to the fourth evidence photo of the boot print found near Marky's body. "Frank, would you say those work boots he's wearing now look a little old, a little scuffed? Think maybe they're about three years old? Still, I bet if we took a print from these, we could probably match it to the one in the photo."

"Darn close, anyway." Even Frank knew that wasn't true. The boot mark in the picture had been made by a generic brand, with no outstanding qualities. After three years of wear, the one Shyrell had on almost certainly wouldn't match to the old prints. Hopefully Shyrell didn't know that.

Apparently he didn't. Hearing Frank's casual answer, his whole demeanor changed. He sat up straight in his chair, laid his hands on his thighs, and stared straight ahead. "Sir! The man was asleep on sentry duty! Sleeping on duty demands the death penalty. I did what was necessary, sir! It's just a good thing I checked up on the kid."

Horatio glanced over his shoulder at the mirror. Although the confession was recorded, he knew there was more satisfaction in seeing it happen in real life. Now, thanks to Sally's sense of duty as strong as his own, a case that was long overdue had been solved; a mother would finally receive closure. Turning, he nodded to Frank. 

As if he had other better things to do, the big man hoisted himself away fromhis leaning positionon the door frameand walked over to Shyrell. Laying a large hand on his shoulder and stating the murder charge and the Miranda rights, he took Shyrell out. He took note that there was no physical transformation in the man this time, just the feel of a criminal who knows he's been caught.

Horatio had hardly walked out of the room when Sally bounded out around the corner and flung herself onto his large frame. Giggling with joy, she thanked him for his perfect line of questioning. "You know, when you first went in there, I was wishing we'd had a line of communication, so I could maybe give you some hints on lines of questioning, but there was no need! None!" Not catching that Horatio had noticed the echo of his own thoughts, she bubbled on. "Oh, please remind me to thank Frank for having put me on to this whole thingin the first place!"

Horatio nodded. He wondered if he was blushing from the effusive hugging and compliments. Looking for some way to keep this going, he asked Sally if she might like a cup of coffee.

Nodding as she took a deep breath of satisfaction, Sally fell in step with Horatio. "So, tell me, what's going to happen with the kids?"

Talking as they went into the lunchroom, Horatio explained, "Well, they'll be charged and taken to Juvenile Hall. Most of them may have to be released. They haven't admitted to a thing and we don't have a single bit of evidence to link them with the robberies. Not even a single fingerprint. Pedro has confessed both to the murder and to several robberies, so he'll spend quite some time in prison. All we can do is hope these kids give us names of others and that one of them might break the code of silence Shryell has instilled into them."

Sally found a coffee cup for general use, automatically washed and dried it before she put in some powdered creamer and about three quarters of a pink packet of sweetener. Finally, holding the cup out for Horatio to pour some coffee, she remarked, "I'd like to help if I may. Just call me when you bring in another kid or question Pedro any further. I bet I can figure out how to get the information out of him that'll nail the door to Shyrell's cell shut forever. Using kids like they were disposable tools, besides executing Marky like that; he should be put into a deep well with a rock put over the opening."

Horatio's eyes crinkled around the edges as he heard her talk. This was a woman after his own heart!

Before he could think of something to say, Sally reached into her pocket and retrieved her vibrating phone, uttering a snarl of irritation as she looked at the caller ID. He nearly laughed when, before she'd even finished her growl, she spoke gaily into the phone, "And, what, dear heart, can I do for you now?" Obviously, she believed, as he did, that the people who called didn't have to be burdened with attitude.

Watching Sally stroll around the tables in the room as she talked, he thoughtfully sipped his coffee. Although, if he'd been asked, he probably wouldn't have been able say what was going through his mind, it certainly wasn't business related. Enjoyment of seeing this pretty woman, perhaps? Speculation as to what could happen, maybe? Appreciation, for sure.

Suddenly Sally whirled around and gestured with a large shrug of shoulders and threw her free hand out to the side to indicate that she was sorry. When Horatio tilted his head and raised his brows in acknowledgement, she turned again. Continuing her phone conversation, she almost ran out of the break room, heading for the elevator.

Horatio reached for the nearly full cup Sally had left on the counter and poured the contents down the sink drain. He casually washed the cup, shook the excess water from it, and put back into the collection of 'extras' it had been taken from. Walking slowly out of the break room, with his own coffee, he considered the last few moments and, as he climbed the stairs, came to a decision.

In his office, Horatio sat down at his desk and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell. It only took a moment to go over his stored list of numbers and find the one he was looking for.

Half an hour later, after he'd made two more phone calls, Horatio's usual smooth purr was nearly falsetto and choppy on the third call. "Sally?" By now, he'd risen from his chair.

Looking up from the lab floor below, one could have seen Horatio's silhouette against the deepening twilight as he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. They would have noticed how he'd widened his stance, twisted his head, and lowered it, while the hand not holding the phone rose to the side of his waist, lowered, and rose again as if undecided as to what to do with itself.

Feeling as nervous as he sounded,he came immediately to the point. A brief conversation later, he turned,his dark suit blending into the now dark windows. If anyone could have seen his face in the gloom, they might not have recognized him. For the first time in more than two years, Horatio Caine was smiling from ear to ear.

TBC

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	15. Chapter 15

The action in this chapter was kindly given the blessing of my police officer friend. I am also thankful to the Unknown Writers of Antelope Valley for their help.

Chapter 15

The morning after Shyrell's capture, the Lab was humming contentedly. Horatio had gone out on a call to determine whether a new crime warranted a full investigation. The rest of the team were dotting the I's and crossing the T's of their respective cases.

Calleigh was happily up to her eyeballs in bullets from several cases. She smiled at the interruption of her cell phone. After a lifetime of her father's constant, often petty demands for attention, she'd gotten perfectly okay being disturbed. At first, she didn't even recognize the voice. For one thing, the man spoke in a hoarse whisper and sounded like he was holding his hand over his mouth. For another, the words came rushing out with an excited quiver that made everything sound like gibberish. Only after the third request for the caller to slow down and calm down, did she realize it was Simon Harrison, the man from Oklahoma trying to be a Bounty Hunter.

"He's here! I see him!"

"Who's here? Where?"

"Donnelly! My—our killer-nurse! I can't believe it! I'm so excited, I can hardly stand it!"

She remembered he'd said something about visiting a relative at a retirement center. "Okay! Just don't do anything, Simon. Do you hear me?" "What, and let him get away?"

"You're sure it's him?"

"Lady! These Indian eyes don't lie! All dressed in hospital blues like a regular nurse, too. He must work here now. He's just now at the nurse' station! Looks like he's signing out! What'll I do? I don't have my 'cuffs with me!"

Thinking fast, Calleigh grabbed a landline phone and hoped she remembered Horatio's number. "Stay on the line, Simon. I'm calling for back-up now."

"Good. When I take him down, I'll need someone to haul him to the pokey while I go get the paperwork I have at the motel."

"Simon, don't you dare make a move on him! Just see if you can get his car license! Hold on." She felt like a comedy sketch character, holding two phones to either ear, afraid of confusing one for the other. "Horatio? I have Simon on my cell. He says he's got Donnelly spotted in The Opa-Locka Sun Retirement Home, right now. Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back to the lab, heading towards the 95, traveling parallel of the Airport Expressway."

Simon's whispered voice carried a slightly panicked note. "He's leaving! Took the elevator!"

Calleigh heard what sounded like a heavy clunking sound issuing from her cell. Into one phone she said, "Hold on Horatio." Into the other she exclaimed, "Simon? Are you alright?"

The private detective's breathing could be heard over thumping sounds. His voice came out raggedly through his heavy breathing. "I'm taking the stairs!"

Calleigh supposed the next clunk was the door from the stairwell being opened. Then she heard his panting as he slowed his walk. "Do you think he's going for his car?"

Horatio's silence showed he knew she was busy with Simon.

Simon answered, "I-I think so. At least he's headed towards the same lot I parked my car in."

On the landline, in the background, she heard Horatio using the Hummer's radio. "This is Lieutenant Horatio Caine. I'm going to need pursuit backup. Stand by for details."

Calleigh encouraged Simon. "Can you get the license plate number?"

"I can't from this distance. I don't want to get close enough for him to spot me."

"It won't matter if he sees you now." Calleigh coached.

"But my car is 'way on the other side of the lot! I won't be able to get to my car fast enough if I don't move now."

"You won't know what to follow if you don't get the car description and the plate. I've got backup on its way. We need to know as many details as we can get. Don't fail me now, Simon!" Long practice with giving her father orders when he was flat-assed drunk had taught her how to sound authoritative yet friendly.

"No, ma'am, I won't." Simon's breathing became heavier as he obviously stepped up his pace. "Okay, he sees me now. He's rushing to get into a car." As if holding the phone from his face, his voice now sounded like it was shouting. "Hey! Hey, mister! Can I ask where the bathroom around here is?" His voice became clearer. "Heh. Works every time! Stopped him just long enough for me to get five feet closer. I can see the car now."

Calleigh could hear the sound of Simon running. She raised her voice. "What kind of car? Color, make, model." The distant sound of an engine being gunned and then of a car being hurriedly backed out and driven forward with a sharp squeak of tires was plain.

"Florida license MWA555 on an older model Honda Civic, light grey, maybe silver. The car's a hoopty, maybe a '98, body's all dinged up."

"Are you close to the exit? Can you see which way he's headed?"

He ran a few steps. "Lessee, here. Looks like he's turning west! I bet he's going to get on that freeway!" His voice bounced as his running feet hit the ground. "Yeah! He just took the southbound entry!" The professionalism Simon briefly displayed was gone. "Aw! Dang! Calleigh, he's getting away!

No longer paying attention to Simon's disappointment, Calleigh rattled off the car's statistics into the landline.

As soon as Horatio heard the car's description, license, and direction of travel, he replied, "Calleigh, tell Simon he did a great job. Ask him to come to the lab, would you?" Without waiting for a reply, Horatio tossed the phone to the empty seat beside him and then parroted the information into the radio microphone. He included, "I'm headed towards the freeway, now. I'm going to see if I can locate him. When I do, I'll let you know." He clicked the mike off, turned on the emergency lights and siren, and stepped on the gas.

Horatio felt the primitive bloodlust thrill of the chase course through his system. Behind the wheel of the emperor of all muscle cars, that was shrieking its war cry, Horatio's skin tingled with excitement. He was full of righteous purpose, transformed from simple officer-of-the-law to legally designated predator. And yet, deep inside, along with the heady rush, he felt his gut tighten. Always, there was risk in a chase, the unknown factor of how it would end. 'Never mind, whatever the end, so be it.'

The Hummer raced down the nearly empty side road. At one point, the street rose slightly as it bridged a canal, which gave the car an opportunity to demonstrate a brief lesson in physics. Following Newton's First Law of Motion, the large vehicle, traveling at nearly eighty miles an hour, showed a tendency to stay in a straight line; willing to follow the upward path of the road, but not down; thus becoming briefly, a flying Hummer. A split second later, however, Newton's Second Law took over, giving the car's shock absorbers a workout as the tires hit the pavement with a resounding thump. When Horatio jammed the gas pedal down to the floor, Newton's Third Law predictably followed through.

Two minutes after that, Horatio speeded up the onramp of the freeway heading north. With the easy confidence of one who'd driven the worst of New York traffic, Horatio guided the speeding Hummer through the more polite, less self-centered Miami drivers. He was thankful that, the senior citizens and the varied mix of foreign-born drivers had been more diligent about obeying the driving laws than many of the younger, native-born populace. Since the former made up a larger share of the drivers on the road, a path before the flashing, screaming vehicle cleared like magic.

He decided to use 103rd Street as the point at which to get turned around in the other direction. On the exit, he slowed to less than fifteen miles per hour, carefully winding around the cars at the bottom of the ramp. Turning the corner, he ripped the dark glasses from his face, as he hesitated and peered carefully into the gloom created by the freeway bridge. Precious seconds could be lost if he chose the wrong path, got stuck behind a barrier of cars and couldn't make it onto the south on-ramp in time to encounter his target. He saw the oncoming traffic lane was actually clearer, so he made a sharp left. Now, crawling cautiously at ten miles per hour, the echo of the blaring siren ricocheted off of the concrete support structure; the garish flashes of the white, blue, and red lights lending a festive air to his careful progress. At this reduced speed, he felt like he was standing still! His eyes kept darting from one side to another as he looked for any driver who might not hear or see the giant howling, flashing van.

When he hit the blinding sunlight on the other side of the underpass, he took the glass' earpiece that was clamped loosely in his teeth and, keeping his left hand on the wheel, clumsily fit the glasses back onto his face with his right. He usually used both hands to place the custom fit eyewear, but right now, he had other things on his mind.

After making sure his path was clear, he made another sharp left and headed up the southbound ramp. At the top, he confounded the drivers behind him by pulling over to the shoulder of the ramp and stopping, killing the lights and siren. He scanned the cars speeding by on the highway. 'Even if Donnelly panicked, gone seventy, he couldn't get this far, this fast. Let's hope he didn't swing off the freeway before now.' Checking his side mirror, he saw the cars on the ramp behind him hesitate and slowly inch their way past to get to the freeway. He knew the drivers were hoping they weren't breaking some law by passing a police vehicle that, only seconds before, had been roaring out the equivalent of 'Pull over! Stop! Get out of my way!'

Within moments, Horatio's optimism was rewarded. He saw the dilapidated Honda go by in the third lane. Using his phone instead of the radio, he reported it. Meanwhile, one hand on the steering wheel, he guided the Hummer smoothly into the flow of traffic. Deftly weaving among the other cars, he moved across the lanes until he was behind the life battered Civic. A silver Hummer in Miami isn't all that unusual, and since Donnelly couldn't have seen the CSI shield emblazoned on the side, Horatio knew he could trail the man for some time.

He noted with dark satisfaction, his prey was traveling at a reasonable speed of sixty miles an hour. 'Good. That means you think you're safe. All the better to surprise you with.'

Finally, hearing the acknowledgment that the backup was ready, Horatio switched on his lights and siren. As he expected, startled, Donnelly stepped on the gas. Predictably, the driver in front of Donnelly, hearing the siren, immediately slowed. This forced Donnelly into a planned chain reaction.

When the MDPD officers signaled that they were ready, two patrol cars had come into position behind the Hummer. Once the Hummer's siren blared, one of them pulled out, drove abreast of Donnelly's left, and held steady, blocking him in on that side. The other car swung to the right, straddled two lanes and slowed down, thus blocking traffic behind. Once the target was alarmed, the only path open was to the right. His heart thudding in his chest, Horatio watched the dynamics of the maneuver unfold. The exercise relied almost completely on luck. With a couple of dozen unskilled drivers involved, all making decisions in split seconds at sixty to seventy miles an hour, the odds of catastrophic results from the least miscalculation were astronomical.

The plan was to make a particular exit seem to be Donnelly's best option. If all went right, he wouldn't notice the three police cars blocking the foot of the long ramp until it was too late.

Just to be sure, Horatio stayed on his tail until they hit the ramp. Here, he slowed; there was no telling what the man would do when he saw those cars at the bottom. He'd actually seen people on the run do a u-turn, go back up the ramp, and then try to turn again to get into the flow of traffic. It never worked, caused terrible damage to both property and people, but it had been tried. Instead, Donnelly did the other unthinkable thing; he slid his car to full stop midway down the ramp, near the shoulder, scrambled out, and made a beeline for the guardrail. Horatio saw that the fool intended on jumping! However, just as Donnelly climbed over and was about to drop down, he realized he was still about twenty feet above the ground. Not being an athlete in even the vaguest sense, the pudgy man changed his mind too late. He ended up hanging over the edge, one arm over the top rail, his other hand seeking a firmer grasp on the second rung of slippery metal, his legs wildly treading air.

Hitting the pavement in a running jump, Horatio got to Donnelly ahead of the police officers running up from the blockade. Leaning over the rail, he reached down and put a firm hand under the armpit. He could feel the warm, sweat soaked hairs as his fingers slid under the short sleeve. He grabbed a handful of blue material at the other shoulder.

"Help me! Please! Don't let me fall, man, don't!" Donnelly blubbered.

Tempting as it was to let the man go and see if he'd at least break a bone or two, the redhead held on. Knowing he couldn't single handedly pull the two hundred plus pound man up, he waited the few seconds it took for the uniforms to reach them. It took both officers' assistance to bring him up and over the railing.

With no little satisfaction, Horatio saw that the officers didn't let their captive stand while he was being handcuffed. After Donnelly was brought over the rail, he was forced down onto his knees. He was then 'allowed' to fall forward, onto his stomach. Looking down at him, Horatio wanted to push the man's face into the rough concrete, bloody it just a little, perhaps give some satisfaction to the bereaved relatives. He didn't. Instead, he stood back and calmly watched the handcuffing process. Meanwhile, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the smelly dampness from his fingers.

When he was finally brought to his feet, Donnelly looked gratefully into the blue eyes of his pursuer. "Thanks man. Thanks for not letting me fall."

Silently pocketing the soiled square of linen, Horatio averted his withering glare. As if ignoring what was going on, he slowly slipped on his sunglasses and stood aside to let the police officers take Donnelly to one of the black-and-whites at the bottom of the hill.

Standing as if making sure his man was being properly handled, Horatio wasn't actually watching anything. He could still feel himself vibrating, similar to the way a tuning fork holds the vibration long after the note is no longer heard. Like the others involved in the police action, he was feeling the shakiness left by unused adrenalin that had no place to go. Emotionally elated, dazed, almost blinded by the sudden presence of the world around him, he wandered down to the foot of the ramp. He first stopped by the officers who'd helped pull Donnelly over the rail. All he could do, for the first few minutes, was look at them. The two wordlessly returned his gaze. Each occasionally glanced at the blue-clad figure in the patrol car. Finally able to speak, Horatio simply said, "Good work. Thank you."

Trying to find purpose in his life, Horatio stopped by each group, checking body language, listening to words that didn't yet make sense. He knew they were all waiting for the world speed back up to normal from what seemed like its unexpectedly sluggish pace. Like them, he felt the need to get back to actively working and knew he had to wait until his nerves stopped making electric passes at his senses.

Suddenly, an alarm ran through them all. A car came down from the free way and skidded to a halt behind the Hummer. As one, every man wheeled and drew his pistol and sited down the barrel. With a sinking feeling, Horatio recognized the figure that got out of the vehicle. Holstering his gun, he shouted out as he advanced, "It's alright! Stand down! I repeat, stand down!"

When Simon Harrison, the Bounty Hunter, saw ten pistols aimed at him, he threw up his hands, fingers held wide apart. As soon as he recognized Horatio, however, he made the mistake of lowering his arms. When he saw the nearest officers who hadn't heard the order to 'stand down' straighten their arms in an aiming motion, he hastily threw his arms up again. He didn't put them down until Horatio shouted another time, holding his own empty hand out from his side.

Making sure all the officers saw and understood the gesture, Horatio fought the urge to growl at the wide-eyed innocent. "Simon! May I ask what you are doing here? Didn't you receive the message to head for the lab?"

"Yeah! That's where I was headed when I saw you guys here. I just had to check. Glad I did! You caught my man! Can I see him?" He craned his neck looking for his prey.

Putting his hand out in front of him in a halt motion, Horatio still fought strong emotions, urged by this second spike of adrenalin. "Simon, you're interfering with a police action. I really recommend you get back into your car, drive down the road here, drive around to the next onramp, and continue on to the lab."

Simon's voice took on a childish whine. "Aw! I want to see the guy! Please?"

Horatio searched the ground for words that wouldn't sound like he was losing patience with this idiot. "Simon, the longer we talk about this, the longer it's going to take for us to secure the scene. You have no jurisdiction here and I really suggest you drive on to the lab." He hoped Simon heard the implied threat of arrest.

Apparently, Simon heard, or perhaps took notice of the dozen men standing like coiled springs, ready to unleash deadly power at any excuse. "Oh! Yeah, okay, sure, I got it. Meet you there." He slowly backed into the open door of the car and got inside.

Horatio watched the car pull out and head down the ramp in the lane that had been opened to traffic. He then walked casually towards the nearest group of officers who had warily watched the intruder the whole time. He grinned, shook his head, and walked on.

Standing in the bright Miami sun, Horatio pulled out his phone and speed dialed Calleigh. He told her to expect Donnelly in another hour or so. "But first, if Simon isn't there in twenty minutes, call him and find out why." Knowing Calleigh's experience, he knew that all he had to do was mention that Simon had shown up just after a chase and subsequent takedown and that she'd get it. He didn't have to say 'the flaming ass-hole nearly got his fucking head blown off through sheer stupidity.' He heard her voice go crisp and very non-southern when, after a slight pause, she replied she'd do what he'd asked.

Then, he made another call. He'd meant it just to be informative, to let Sally know that Donnelly had been caught and was being taken in.

After thanking him for being informed, her next remark took him by surprise. "Sounds like you were in on it."

"You might say I was, yes."

"How was it?"

"Nonviolent, interesting."

"Is everyone alright?"

"Yes. Yes they are." Horatio felt a wave of gratitude nearly overcome him. It wasn't often anyone responded like this to a police event. Usually, people either wanted details of glory or gore, hoping for both, or they wanted crisp, court worthy details, no nonsense like, whether anyone was alright. Concern for how it went down, for the officer's well being, usually came later, if at all. He also knew the appreciation was amplified; his senses heightened as he came down from the 'rush'.

"Good. Glad to hear it. Later, when you come in, and are ready to do the interrogation, give me a call." She ended the connection.

"Will do." Horatio folded his phone in slow motion.

Sometimes, during the inevitable letdown after a major incident like he'd just had, he found he was lethargic and moved more sluggishly than usual. In this case, however, he moved slowly because he was in deep thought. Behind the lenses of his dark glasses, Horatio's bright azure eyes stared out blankly. His mouth was drawn wide in a big smile. The funk he'd almost swirled into had been aborted by the rare feeling of being understood. He became conscious that the feeling was really nice, particularly when he considered the source.

TBC

I'd love to hear your comments, your thoughts, your life story - talk to me!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Sally's cell phone, still open, lay unheeded in her hand after she'd finished her conversation with Horatio. Seated in what she'd come to consider as her chair in the office, she leaned back, her head cradled against the right wing. Her hand, still holding the phone, had fallen casually on her lap. Her gaze was focused sightlessly on the seam where the ceiling met the back wall.

She couldn't even begin to define her emotions right now. She knew some of what she was feeling was the residue from dealing with Delko's problems. The young man had just left after his first 'session' with her. It had taken a while to get him to open up, to express something of the frustration and anger he'd been dealing with since his injury. Part of it was having to accept all over again that his sister, Marisol, had been killed. Once he had been able to talk, she'd had to assimilate and define what he was saying on the fly, so to speak. So far, the only help she'd been for him was to assure that he wasn't a total nut job, wasn't in danger of being declared unfit for duty, at least, not by her. They agreed that, after a few days' thought, he'd probably be ready for another session and so, they'd made another appointment for early in the following week. After he'd left, she'd gone back to the chair and had just begun to go through the decompression routine necessary for anyone who'd been dealing with another's thoughts for over an hour. She'd just settled down when her phone, still on vibrate, had rattled.

Hearing the background noises, Sally had quickly guessed what Horatio had just been through. He was still on the scene, still in tune with it all. She'd worked around police long enough to understand tones of voice. Although she had never been through the excitement of a police procedure, she'd seen the aftermath many times. Even traffic stops caused a bit of adrenalin. Taking a killer into custody, under any circumstances, usually sent most officers to the limits of tolerance. Hearing the sounds of traffic in the background and police replying to operations through the radios on their uniforms, she could tell the action he'd just been through had been complex, to say the least.

The thing was, her emotions had jumped when she'd heard Horatio say he'd just caught this man, Donnelly. What was that about? Empathy for the high he was obviously on? Concern for the men he'd worked the arrest with? Pleasure at the sound of Horatio's voice, strained as it was? Oh, he'd tried to sound casual. All police tried to act like the harrowing events of their everyday lives were nothing to be concerned about. But she knew there was more going on with him and she'd responded immediately.

Now, she'd found herself thinking how she wished she was out there, in the bright sunlight, surrounded by traffic, holding Horatio while the adrenalin subsided, while his body shook and vibrated the last of the fight/flight effect out, while he was weak and oh, so vulnerable. She would stand there, shielding him, until he was himself again.

Okay, there, she'd admitted it. She had feelings for Horatio. '_Now, define it; put a name to it' _she told herself. No doubt, she was still under the influence of the mother hen feelings she'd had about Delko; the urge to cuddle and pat and assure that everything would be alright. Yeah, well, that always happened for her during counseling sessions. But, now, she was realizing there were more personal feelings for the redhead than just holdovers from the session she'd just ended.

It had been a long time since Sally had felt anything personal about anyone. For years, she'd been driven only by a need to succeed in her profession. This plum job, forensic field psychologist for four counties, included being on the run nearly 24/7. When not in any one of a dozen different courts, testifying as to competence, ability to commit crime, psychological factors of the likelihood of committing a crime, ad infinitem, she was looking at crime scenes, or combing through the personal belongings of victims and the accused, looking for behavior patterns that would lead to finding the perpetrator.

Before this job, she'd been in a variety of forensic positions, looking for her true calling. Before that, she'd been in training for forensics psych, and before that, in school. Before that, she'd gone through the typical periods of growing up, finding ways of dealing with the typically dysfunctional family and with her atypical looks. Oh, she'd met men who had gotten past her looks and were attracted to her anyway, or because of them, but nothing had stuck, not even briefly. She'd even gone through a period of her life thinking that she couldn't fall in love, couldn't develop a relationship with anyone. She'd never even owned a pet!

Now, however, was different, with a capital D. The idea of settling down, having a place she would call home…no, face it, she was thinking of seeing Horatio's face everyday.

Sally's pale, almost non-existent eyebrows lowered as she snapped the phone shut. She didn't move from the chair though. How could she be thinking that way? She didn't even know this man! He'd certainly shown nothing other than professional interest in her. Oh, sure, last night he'd asked her to join him for lunch tomorrow, but that probably wasn't anything. It had to do with the Foundation. Hmph! How could she be daydreaming about him? What an affront! Yet, here she was, thinking and dreaming and, yes, admit it, fantasizing, just a little bit.

Shaking her shoulders, and setting her feet down onto the floor, she brought herself out of her reverie. Apparently, the daydreams had helped her decompression process and so, that was enough of that. She needed to make notes on Delko in his psych file, to show she was being paid for some reason. She also had to do conference calls with her helpers out in the field and so on and so forth. ' _Enough dillydally already_!'

An hour and a half later, phone calls not made, five sheets meant for Delko's file filled with doodling and thrown away, Sally's heart thrilled to the sound of Horatio's purr again on the phone. But more than that, she swore there was something different in the tone of his voice. All he'd said was that they were about to question Donnelly upstairs. His tone, however, definitely sounded happy, like he was glad to be saying anything at all to her.

TBC

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	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Simon! Didn't I tell you to head straight for here when I talked to you last?"

Speaking at the exact same moment as Calleigh, Simon burst out, "He got him, Calleigh! Took him down! Boy, that Lieutenant Caine is some police officer!"

Not to be put off by the praise of the man she'd worked with for more than six years, Calleigh continued, "Do you have any idea how close you came to being taken down yourself?"

Calleigh came up close to the excited African American/American Indian and lowered her voice. She refused to make a bigger scene of this than was necessary. "Simon, what you did was so wrong and could have gone worse. You're just lucky you didn't get shot at!"

Still on a high from knowing his prey was in the bag, Simon seemed to be ignoring his chastisement. "I didn't get to see him, but from the way everyone reacted when I got out of the car, I know they had him."

Calleigh blanched, in shock. She'd had thought all Simon had done was to stop his car and roll the window down, which would have upset all of the officers at the scene as it was. To hear he'd gotten out, unknown by any but Horatio, set her nerves on fire. She almost wanted to check to make sure Simon didn't have any bullet holes that maybe he'd forgotten about or had ignored. She tried not to show surprise because she knew he'd take it for glorification of his actions. She didn't want him thinking for a moment that what he did was good in any sense of the word. Her only thought was that it was lucky Horatio was there and was quick to warn everyone off.

She eased off the anger and inquired, as coolly as she could, "So, how did it feel to have ten pistols aimed at you?"

As if he had just now realized the full import of what had happened out there, he paused. Both his eyes and his mouth opened. His eyes scanned slowly, as if he were counting the number of business ends of gun barrels pointed at his chest. He thought a minute before he screwed up his face, biting one corner of his lip at his conclusion. "What I did, that wasn't real bright, now was it?"

Passing on the opportunity to declare that he'd just made the understatement of the year, Calleigh gave him her brightest blink but without a smile. Not speaking, she motioned with her hand for him to follow as she turned and walked down the corridor. For the next hour, Simon sat on a stool in the corner of the bullet lab, watching her wordlessly go about her business. She figured she didn't have to say anything, that Simon had learned a lesson the easy way and knew it.

Two hours later, in an interrogation room, Calleigh levelly asked, "Mr. Donnelly, did you know that Florida still has the death penalty?" She carefully laid out pictures of five dead elder citizens on the table in front of the seated and handcuffed man. Above each photo, she laid the results for the blood tox screens of each victim.

Donnelly looked at them as if seeing the faces and the variety of drugs found in their systems for the first time. He seemed to study the sheets with interest. Finally, he sat back with a look of disgust. "Hmph!" he grunted. "Yeah? So?"

Calleigh gave the accused man a sad little half smile. She shifted in her chair across the table and continued, "This, by the way, is all 'we' have. I'm sure the State's Attorney's Office will have more from the four other states you've left victims in. I doubt, when all is said and done, those will matter much, however. Just one of these murders would likely get you the death sentence in Florida. The other four will make sure the lethal drug dose due to you will do the job."

Horatio, who was standing to one side, leaning against the window's decorative grill, approved of Calleigh's cold tone. Though he appeared to be looking down at the floor in front of him, his wide range of vision also had Donnelly well in view. Not that he needed to be present. He knew Calleigh enough to know she had things well in hand. So well, in fact, he let his thoughts wander a bit. He speculated on what might be going on in Sally's mind at the moment. He almost glanced over his shoulder at the mirror, but thought better of it and tuned back in to what Calleigh was doing.

She'd placed her hand under her chin and was saying, almost ingenuously, "Do you have any explanation for your actions, Mr. Donnelly? Perhaps there are some mitigating circumstances you could tell us about?" She raised her head and gestured about as if helping to look for some way to clarify away this murderous behavior.

Danny grunted again. "They were old! I hope someone does as much for me when I reach that age! They went peacefully. What more could they have wanted?"

Horatio almost readied himself to hold Calleigh back from an attack. He knew she wouldn't but also knew Lieutenant Duquesne had a special place in her heart, as he did, for the very old and the very young. Even to threaten harm to either raised her blood to boiling in less time than it took to tell.

Sure enough, her retort was quick and pointed. "They could have wanted to live! Their families could have wanted them to live! You took that away without so much as a by your leave!"

Horatio could tell she'd almost gotten through to the pudgy man seated slumped in the chair across from her. His face went slack for just a moment as if a realization was trying to make its presence felt. Just as quickly though, the muscles in the face hardened and the eyes turned cold. "I did what only what was necessary!"

"How do you figure that?" The rise in Calleigh's voice betrayed her incredulity.

"I had to, that's all! I had to!"

After years of working with each other, Calleigh understood Horatio's slight lift of eyebrows. Not acknowledging the reply, she seemed to be considering her next plan of attack, seemed to think otherwise of it and then sat a moment longer as if waiting for Donnelly to explain further. Finally, she rose, saying with a disgusted tone, "Come on, Horatio, I'm done here. You, Mr. Donnelly, can sit here for a while."

The two CSI's stepped around the corner into the small alcove behind the two-way mirror.

Nodding a hello at Sally, Calleigh ran a hand through her long, blond hair. Unperturbed at having been called off her questioning routine, she asked lightly, "What do you have in mind, Horatio?" Her southern twang wound familarly around the syllables of his name.

As usual, when Horatio was onto a new line of thought or idea, he stood facing his partner, his hands pushing his jacket back, rising up to either side of his belt, but swinging his gaze to the side, while he spoke. "Calleigh, would you mind if Sally tried to get some information from Danny?"

Her face breaking into a large smile, she glanced over at the slightly taller woman. "I think that's an excellent idea."

"Sure you don't mind?" Sally asked. "I don't want to be a buttinsky."

"Mind! Not talking to that animal? Be my guest!" Calleigh resolutely folded her arms across her chest.

First, Horatio was surprised at Calleigh's vituperative reply. He'd thought the disgust at the interrogation had been more for show. He was glad now that he'd acted on an inspiration. Then, suddenly he realized he hadn't asked Sally if she would mind continuing the questioning. However, he saw his input on the matter wasn't needed; the two women were doing just fine.

Sally put her hands forward, palms facing down, her fingers splayed as she spoke. "Okay, here's the deal. I go in alone but I'd like to have both of you observing. I know it's all being recorded: having your witness is for safety and to keep everything beyond question. I don't even know if can do any better than Calleigh, though. You guys are good!"

Both smiled and nodded once at the psychologist and let her pass.

While they were talking, Horatio had kept an eye on the passive Danny. As far as he could tell, Danny hadn't made a move except to breathe. It was as if he was meditating. Perhaps he was just content, enjoying the afterglow of a duty done. Horatio could only hope Sally could get something out of him to explain why he'd thought it needed to be done. Not that he felt anything other than loathing for the man. Danny's confession or at least an explanation of motive would simply make a much clearer case for the State's Attorney's office. Better, since he hadn't mentioned wanting a lawyer yet, perhaps they could get his statement, then get him booked and done with. More, he just wanted to watch Sally work.

Donnelly waited while she paused at the door. Although he could see her walk by, he seemed to have not taken any notice. Before entering the room, she stood for several seconds with her hands thrust into the patch pockets of her khaki skirt. Horatio saw her look down, her eyes flitting back and forth as if reading a large book laid out in front of her. The same action as she'd done in her office a few days before. He assumed she was reviewing all of the information she'd heard and seen on this man, on this type of man, and any variant of the behavior. She'd probably already analyzed him to the nth degree and working on that, would be able to play Danny for all he was worth. Before he could speculate any further, she raised her head, took a deep breath, and walked in.

As she briskly entered, she was so noisy, Horatio could hear not her not only through the speaker but from around the corner as well. When Donnelly jumped at the noise, he took some satisfaction in the reaction. He also noticed that Donnelly had looked positively frightened at first and then annoyed. Finally, he'd looked at her and then seemed to look around, beyond her.

Talking stridently as she centered herself to stand directly across the table from her subject, Sally began abruptly, "Danny, would you please tell me what you've been up to?"

He stared at her belligerently.

Using the same tone, she continued, "I'm Sally Brandt and I'm a forensic psychologist. Now, no nonsense, young man, you've already done what you had to, now tell me what it was for!"

Danny lowered his head, as if before a stern female authority figure, perhaps an aunt, or a schoolmistress.

Getting only silence, Sally crossed her arms. "Some time in this century, Danny Donnelly! I know what you did. You tell me how and why! Now!" She pointed a forefinger at the table as if expecting him to produce a tangible item on that spot.

Horatio wondered how such a little woman could sound like his old training sergeant from his days as police cadet in New York.

A glazed look came over the flabby face as he stared at the icy eyes drilling holes into him. He stumbled over his first words and swallowed. "I, uh-I…" Then he began in earnest. "I'd relieve other nurses who were just about to administer pain meds. I'd tell them I'd do it. It was okay since they'd already had the dose ready to inject into the IV. Only, instead of emptying the syringe, I'd save half a cc. I'd put it into a used med bottle I kept in my pocket. It was easy to get up to two cc's of juice in a night, once I figure out how to do it."

Horatio wished he could see Sally's face. Something about her seemed to encourage Donnelly. He looked like he was reciting a well learned lesson, or perhaps was sharing something of which he was extremely proud.

"At first, I just limited the number of kills to five at each place. Five was when I sort of got uncomfortable."

Still commandingly, Sally ordered an explanation of how he got uncomfortable.

"People would notice a lot more than usual were dying at about five. My bet is, it has to do with, you know, the spell of the pentagram." He said this last as if he were winking, as if he and Sally shared some secret information only they knew.

Horatio saw Sally's head bob, nodding as she signified silent acknowledgement of the secret to be kept between them.

"So, you'd move on." He heard her say.

Donnelly raised part of his upper lip in a sneer and shrugged his shoulders. "Old ones are everywhere. I could go wherever I wanted. Did, pretty much."

"What happened in Oklahoma?" Her voice became softer, though still demanding.

"I was getting tired of wandering around on my own; didn't want to go back home, though. Momma married pretty soon again after she'd had Pop killed when I was six. Reason I left home was I didn't figure to watch her do it to Daddy Harry or maybe have to watch him do it to her. Now, with both of them being old, I know it won't be long. Anyways, Momma's really younger brother, Frankie, said I could go stay with him, in Ponca City. He's more like an older brother to me, instead of an uncle. He's only about six years older than me. Anyways, he married my Aunt Louise who's, like, about five years younger 'n me." He giggled in a deep voice. "She said she liked me better 'n Frankie." His mouth dropped open. The tip of his tongue played at his lower lip. "It got so's she'd wait for Frankie to go to work and then slip down to the parlor where I was sleepin'."

Sally cut in to hurry him along. "Sort of distracted you? Perhaps? Made you forget how many old ones you'd killed?"

Even Horatio felt soiled by the sewage-like snigger that spilled out of Danny's mouth. "Yeah, distracted me. You could say that."

"So, why is it that your mother killed your father?" Sally's tone of voice was light, almost as if she were asking to know the time.

Donnelly shrugged and looked uninterested. "All I remember is hearing Momma say something on the phone after Pop had been in the hospital a while. Something about 'let him rest' and needing to let him go. Pop was lots older'n Momma. I remembered she'd said something like that about my dog before that. Tige was old too and the next day she took him to the Vet. Then I heard her talking on the phone, saying to 'let him go,' and I never saw him again. After that time on the phone, the next day, she came back from the hospital and told me Pop was dead. We both acted sad but neither of us cried, I remember that. Pop wasn't all that great a dad, anyway. Daddy Harry was nicer. I was glad that he was younger."

"The ones you killed; how did you feel about them?"

Danny was on his guard again. "What do you mean, feel?"

Sally shrugged her shoulders. "Just wondering if you liked them. That's all."

"Nothing about old people to like. Older they are, the more trouble they are."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Just more trouble, that's all. Some of them thought us nurses were their personal servants, at their beck and call. Had us running to them every minute. 'Get me this, do that!' I had enough trouble changing diapers, and spooning pablum into them! Damn doctors wouldn't give them enough pain meds to keep them quiet for any length of time."

"So you took care of that."

Danny sat back and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants waistband. "You do what you gotta do to stay sane. The hospitals pretend not to like patients dying off on them, but I know they do."

"Any other nurses say you were doing a service? I mean, did they, like, ask you to administer pain meds and keep back some."

"Are you kidding? Most acted like such goody-two-shoes, they wouldn't say shit if they had a mouth full of it! No, they just played the game, pretended like I was helping them out, pretended like they didn't know what was going on. That way, like now, they'll pretend they don't know a thing about it. Stupid ass-hole bitches!"

"Yeah. Nurses are like that. Well, it's been nice talking with you. I hope it all goes as it should for you." Sally made a move as if she were going to leave and stopped. "Oh, I'm just curious. Why didn't you ask for a lawyer? That guy that got you out in Oklahoma was sure good."

Danny's eyes squinted in thought for a few seconds as he stared above Sally's head. "You know something? I don't know why. I just might, later on. Right now, I'm good. They have to get me a public defender when I go to trial. I might just wait and see who I draw." He smiled.

Sally walked around the table, giving Danny a wide berth, and out the door. He followed her movements until she passed out of his view and then swung his head back to facing to the front. He looked down at the table as he rocked back in the chair and smiled quietly.

In the alcove, Sally shook her head. "I'll write a formal statement as to my findings and send it up to you. There's no doubt, he's crazy as they come; makes a real case for the statement 'that boy just ain't right in the head.' He has no sense of guilt, no remorse. You notice he made no mention of how the deaths he caused may have affected families. He wasn't killing so much as simply disposing of annoying refuse. Right now, he's divorced himself completely from the what's going on. I doubt there will even be a trial. Any judge will order up a full psych workup for a hearing. Unfortunately, he'll probably spend the rest of his life in a rubber room. He's too crazy to execute."

For once, Horatio wished society wasn't so understanding to the criminally insane. However, the law was what it was. As a precaution, Horatio had called for a second uniformed officer to aid in moving Danny to holding. He'd also ordered 'ankle bar' cuffs to be brought up; a sixteen inch bar with manacles at either end for the ankles. With a professional diagnosis of mental instability, there was no telling what the man would do now. The prudence was as much for Donnelly's safety as for that of the officers.

A watchful silence fell over the three as Donnelly looked balefully at each movement the two officers performed on his person. One could only guess at what was going through his mind.

To avoid polluting his own mind with guesses, Horatio went through the steps he'd have to take to make sure the case against Donnelly was solid. Admittedly, this was not really a case for the Crime Scene Investigation team since the only forensics involved had been in revealing that the elder deaths had been due to an overdose of pain meds. Beyond that, the findings had been due to pure old-fashioned paperwork, witness recollection, and Simon Harrison's contribution of pointing out Donnelly in the first place.

Speaking of whom, Simon had been placed in Horatio's office for the duration of the questioning. From that aerie, he could only see Donnelly through several layers of glass walls; he couldn't interfere. Calleigh, to Horatio's relief, had suggested the idea. After what he'd done on the freeway a few hours before, Horatio had wanted to shove Simon out the front door with instructions to Building Security to keep him out at all costs. Calleigh had reminded him that they would need Simon's statement regarding how he'd called in the sighting today. As a courtesy, they'd promised him credit to the Oklahoma authorities. What good that would do, since Florida would no doubt try the man and put him away in a high security mental ward for the rest of his life, Horatio had no idea. A promise, however, was a promise and it would require paperwork with Simon's signature. Now, the problem would be to engage Simon in such a way as to get the job done, and at the same time, keep him out of trouble.

As if reading his mind, Calleigh turned to Sally, "Sally, do you have the time to explain your conclusions about Donnelly to someone?"

"Who?"

Horatio knew that Calleigh paused, not just to look charming, but to arrange her words into the most diplomatic form possible. "Donnelly's capture is due primarily to the efforts of a gentleman up in Horatio's office. He's a private eye from Oklahoma with no official standing in the arrest but, as a courtesy, we'd like to keep him in the loop of information. Rather than translate your findings, I thought, since you're here, if you have the time, you could explain." Calleigh smiled her paramount 'we girls can do it best,' smile.

Sally returned the smile, measure for measure. "I think I heard some conversation downstairs about him. Isn't he the one who breached the scene at the capture point today?" She turned her eyes to Horatio.

Horatio tilted his head to one side and smiled but didn't say anything.

Calleigh's eye's got as big as her smile as she again found the words. "Simon's choice of actions since he first arrived hasn't been, shall we say, well chosen or organized. He's been of great help, but his approach could use some tempering. So far, he's only talked with me and Horatio."

"Sounds more like you just need my help to outnumber him. Sure, I'll see what I can do."

Twenty minutes later, the trio left Simon as he was busily scribbling notes on a pad of yellow legal paper. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Calleigh offered profuse thanks to a bemused Sally.

"He's sort of like a Basset Hound puppy, stumbling over his own ears in his enthusiasm, isn't he? Good thing he's going back to Ponca City."

Horatio purred softly, "I also want to offer my thanks, Sally. I'm glad you knew what sort of information Simon can provide to help with the case for the mental stability hearing."

Sally beamed at Horatio. "It sounded like he had done a lot of homework. By giving you names of some of the staff at the hospital in Ponca City, you can start getting records of the victims there."

Calleigh chimed in again. "When you told him how that information he'd gathered on Donnelly's past would help, I thought he'd start flapping his arms and fly home on his own to get it. I'll make sure he gets to the airport, this evening."

"Meanwhile, tie a leash onto him. He's a classic case of Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. Most of his energy is spent wandering off track and then trying to find his way back to where he was."

All three looked up to make sure Simon was still sitting at the desk, on task. Catching each other doing it, they all laughed.

A moment later, Horatio, watching Sally enter the elevator, became aware that Calleigh was looking at him quizzically. When Sally had said she'd see him tomorrow at Shen-du, Calleigh's blue-green eyes had blinked from him and over to Sally and back in slow motion but she hadn't said anything.

All she said now was, "I'd better get back up to Simon. I'll get him started on his statement about his participation in Donnelly's capture."

Though Horatio's reply was a simple, "Thank you, Calleigh," she knew it was for more than her usual stellar performance in a case. It was for her understanding that he was once again coming back to life.

TBC

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	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Late Saturday morning at the restaurant couldn't have come quickly enough for Horatio. Calleigh's unspoken assessment the day before had been correct; he was having feelings again. He was more than just intrigued with Sally. He liked her very much and was becoming more and more attracted to her unusual looks. Her appearance that morning, however, was unexpected.

Seeing her across the crowded dining room, he'd risen from his seat. She was speaking quietly to the maitre d'. Seeing him rise, she'd walked hurriedly to him without waiting for someone to show her to the table. He watched people do double takes as she passed by.

"Sally," Horatio greeted, "I didn't expect you to come in costume." He couldn't help but notice that the floating bits of gossamer material attached to the closely fitted body suit hid absolutely nothing. Moreover, the bright sunlight coming through the windows seemed to highlight various points of her body rather spectacularly.

Again, Horatio was aware of that assessing look of hers, her slight smile as she replied. "No?" She glanced around the table at the young foundation members who were greeting her. "Why not?"

When he'd made the arrangements for today, all he was thinking of was that this would be a way to see her outside of work. She'd seemed so bubbly and different at the Gala, working with the guests; he'd wanted to see her that way again. He'd had no idea she'd take it this seriously. True, all he'd said to her in invitation was that he'd set up a luncheon with some of the Foundation members and chaperones and thought her presence would be a great plus.

Horatio noticed that Sally had also made up her face in colors similar to her costume, mottled in greens and blues. Somehow, the deeper coloring calmed the effect of those ordinarily disturbing eyes. No matter, having her here was what was important. "I just hadn't thought you'd go to the trouble for a luncheon. Thank you for doing it, though. Shall we sit?"

Without further ado, Sally sat in the remaining empty chair at the table and allowed Horatio to push her chair forward slightly. Having done so, she began greeting the ten young adults, calling each one by name. "Oh, isn't this all just so fancy?" she said in conclusion, not sounding at all like the Sally Horatio knew from work. Her voice was childlike and full of wonder as her eyes roved the large table. The center was set with small, fanciful creations of tropical flowers.

Horatio caught the eye of the maitre d', who just happened to be a friend of his, and nodded slightly. This done, he sat back to watch Sally at play. For, obviously, this was truly fun for her.

He'd gotten the idea for today when he'd been thinking about how his views of her constantly changed. First, there was his meeting with her as she'd pulled him out of that peculiar dream and he'd stared into those fantasy eyes. Then, he'd seen her at the benefit gala in that outlandish costume and then later, another view working with her, then, later, confronting her. Then, he got to wondering about the costume she'd chosen for the gala. Since she'd referred to often appearing as a fairy character, he'd figured she frequently worked with his own favorite charity, so he was comfortable about inviting her today. Besides, even if nothing else came of this, he enjoyed doing something really nice for these young people.

Turning from her remarks with one of the chaperones that she seemed acquainted with, Sally said, "Whatever gave you marvelous idea? How did you arrange it?"

Ignoring her first remark, Horatio replied, "I know the owner and I'm friends with the maitre d'. I believe the owner, Porter Regosso, is on the foundation's board. He was more than happy to provide the facilities."

Sally nodded in recognition of the name. "I think I've met him."

As she had once before, she made a leap of assumption. "So, when you found out that I worked with the kids--I get it now." She smiled mischievously at him. "Careful, when you go in league with the devil, you may not get out of the bargain so easily."

"Pardon?"

"We may want more outings like this. Since I've been asked to help once, I'm likely to want you to do it again!"

Horatio smiled and kept silent. He was glad when Sally's inscrutable gaze was diverted by a call from one of the members. While they'd been talking, the first course of the luncheon was being served so he busied himself with it. It was a simple salad of four different kinds of lettuce with a vinaigrette dressing. The remark to Sally had been regarding a question about what it was.

"Oh! This is a salad! Sometimes a bit hard to eat though. I'll show you how and then you can get help from your friend." Sally spoke in a stagy sing-song voice. Elaborately picking up the cooled fork brought with the salad, and her knife, she captured a few of the ruffled pieces of red and green lettuce, and after some manipulation with the side of the knife, popped the delicacy into her mouth. Chewing, she smiled around the bite and after swallowing exclaimed, "Oh, how good! Now, you guys try it, okay?"

Horatio watched with interest as one or two of the members made efforts to follow Sally's moves and the rest looked expectantly to their friends to help them. Several of the chaperones, in various ways, followed what Sally had done and then handed the fork to the member. One young man dropped his fork with a clatter in surprise at the ice-cold touch of the metal. Another simply sat, staring at her hand as if amazed that something so familiar could feel so foreign. The others put the food into their mouths and then, again, reacted in varying ways. Most simply chewed and swallowed, their faces showing anything from a slight grimace at the sweet bitterness of the dressing and lettuce, to complete passivity. Several politely handed their forks back to their friends in indication of wanting more.

Horatio busied himself with his own plate. When he'd discussed the event with Porter and the maitre d', the idea of the salad had been debated. Their mutual conclusion had been that, not being a major part of the meal, if some or even most of the guests of honor couldn't deal with the difficulty or the varied tastes it would be no great loss. The stimulation of the challenge to these souls who looked at the world so differently would be food enough. He wasn't surprised when more than half at the table refused a second or third bite.

As scheduled, the main course was served so promptly, it interrupted those who were enjoying their last few bites of the salad. All approved of the next presentation without even trying it; grilled cheese sandwiches with a side of celery. Stuffed into each curved vegetable piece was a slender carrot stick lodged in a generous helping of peanut butter. The new and questionable dish done and forgotten, the mood around the table became effusive. Two of the more challenged guests were gently cautioned; one quieted only when her chaperone encouraged her to start eating her celery.

An hour later, everyone, sated with the dessert of a small double rich brownie served with a scoop of ice cream, said their polite thanks to their host. During this time, Horatio had held private and individual little conversations with the few members who he hadn't had a chance to talk with previously. When they all climbed into the limo bus, all of the members felt that their redheaded host was very special.

As he waived good-bye to the departing group, he turned to find Sally at his side, looking up at him. Here was no assessment, but full out approval. Basking in the warmth, he thanked her for the help.

She replied, "I'd heard you've often done things with the kids and I was glad to be included this time."

Without inquiring how she'd found out about his previous contributions, he continued, "I hope it wasn't too much trouble." While he talked, he signaled a waiter to bring new coffee and then sat down.

Sally's whole demeanor changed as she joined him. Elfin still though she looked, her attitude had become that of a cool and collected woman. "I'm glad you did. This saved me from working overtime, doing my real job."

Horatio was already sorry he'd broached the subject. Her views of real work versus what she'd been assigned still rankled at him. He tried not to give her a look of inquiry but she'd already caught the quick rising of his ginger brows over his widened eyes.

"The powers that be consider the office shrink's work to be negligible; they seem to think that besides Vince's work, I should be able to do what I was hired for in the first place with no problem. Which would be right if I could do the fieldwork in an office, which I can't. Instead, they have me ready to handhold a few people that have fired their weapon in the line of duty. Meanwhile, I also get to comb through reports sent to me from a pair of well meaning rookies." Sally sighed out her frustration and continued, "So, instead of taking time to catch up on paperwork in my off hours, I got to play hooky." Taking a sip of coffee and smiling in contentment, she remarked, "By the way, did Simon get on his plane yesterday?"

"He did." Horatio said with decided satisfaction.

"Well, don't hesitate to call me if you interrogate Doctor...er, Nurse Death again. I'll do anything to get out of that silly office!"

Horatio stood abruptly. "Why don't I escort you out to your car?"

Before she could answer, the sound of her cell phone came from the small bag she'd brought with her. "Sally Brandt."

A few minutes later, before getting into her two year old Honda Accord, she finished a repeat of her thanks on behalf of the foundation with, "Now I'd better skip-hop. I have to drive up to South Bay to see what those two officers they assigned to be my eyes and ears have. Apparently, they've got two kids claiming they've been assaulted by aliens that they swear came out of Lake Okeechobee. These guys don't know if the kids are fooling or insane? Oh, please! They're trying their best, but they're too green to handle anything more complicated than a traffic violation!"

Before he knew what was happening, Sally rose up on tiptoe and kissed Horatio gently on the cheek. "I'll see you Monday morning, sailor."

Watching her drive off, Horatio's hand went up to his face where her lips had touched. His orderly mind reprised the morning and especially the last half hour. Had she been playing him, perhaps watching him wiggle in discomfort as she reminded him of her dislike of her current assignment? As sensitive as she was to the most subtle of human behavior, he could be fairly certain she'd seen his reaction when she talked of not wanting to perform a legitimate duty. So, then, why did she insist on doing it? '_She's just being honest_.' But why to him? '_Why not?' _He also thought he detected a certain amount of attraction in the way she looked at him. So, why was she trying to offend him? Dropping the matter, he could only mark the event with the tag, 'Further investigation required.' Well, that wouldn't be hard to take. It might even be rather interesting.

* * *

Sally decided it was time to pay a visit to her own apartment in Royal Palm Beach, before going over to South Bay at the foot of Lake Okeechobee.Going to her real home would add an extra half hour to the hour and a half trip, but she just had to stop and make sure the place was still there. First, she quickly stopped off at the small motel where she was staying at for the duration of the assignment. She skinned out of her costume and quickly removed the bits of makeup she wore. No need to scare the driving populace any more than she had today.

Besides, she wanted plenty of time to review what had just happened at the restaurant. She'd settled the speeding car into the third from the left lane for the hour plus drive up the coast. While the left side of her brain stuck to the mechanics of driving, she let her right brain wander. She was tempted to analyze why he so tenaciously clung to a strict work ethic; this, however was useless without more facts, so she put that aside. She decided instead, to think, of what Horatio would be like if he ever let go.

To say the least, she'd verified Horatio's work ethic. She'd also managed to alienate him again! Why did she keep doing it? She knew that repeating her dislike for clinical psych irritated him, so how often did she need to do it? '_Okay, you know the answer to that too. You know he's interested in you and you're trying to throw him off the trail. You are so afraid of relationships_!' Rather than go through the litany again of why she was so afraid, she returned to speculation on Horatio.

She imagined his blue eyes dancing in a face creased with joy. At a picnic perhaps? No, what her imagination pictured, overlaying the cumulus cloud dotted sky, was an indoor face. '_Yes'_, she thought, '_that's where you'd like him, isn't it? With you, alone_.' Sally sighed. '_Alone and naked_!' That would surely loosen him up. Sally grinned at the back of the car ahead of her. She decided to switch lanes and go around the slower vehicle. She settled back into her preferred lane and resumed her thoughts.

Part of forensics is being able to take bits of a puzzle and, going from what the bits look like, being able to fill in the missing parts. Yes, from what she'd seen of him clothed, she could picture him without covering. His back and chest would no doubt be paler than his face. There would be faint scarring here and there from youthful days when he believed he was superman, impervious to the rays of the sun. Everyone had done that; blonds and redheads suffering more from the delusion than others. The marks were old because he was, after all, a sensible man and learned from mistakes. Those vestiges would be the only breaks in a universe of freckles on a dusky rose pink background, especially on his back. Indeed, the scars would be like bright clouds among the lesser, darker, stars. They'd thin down his back until, at the waist, perhaps a darker line where a casual shirt had ridden up over the belt line. And then, there'd be the white expanse of butt. Only close examination would reveal that yes, there were vestigial freckles lying anemically in the seemingly unmarked territory. Down to only slightly less pale legs. 'He's a workaholic, remember, so those legs only carry distant memory of days in the sun'.

Having noticed hair on the back of his hands, she assumed he had chest hair. Sally smiled, reminiscing at a time when she'd run her hands through another man's chest hair. She wondered if his hair stopped at the bottom of the rib cage or at the belly button or perhaps wandered down and blended into the pubic hair. It was hard to tell how the chest hairline ran. Several mile markers ran past her Honda before she decided she couldn't envision what was in the red nest at the top of his legs. Mother Nature sometimes gave hints, but not always. Size of hands and feet were not always indicators, though some said they were. Neither of his were exactly dainty. She chided herself to move on to another part of his body. And then the fronts of the legs were not as pale as the back but more so than his chest. She pictured the thighs as being usefully muscular, less so than when he was a uniform. Oh well, legs were legs, weren't they?

She stood back from the picture she'd constructed. Yes, quite nice. She drew in closer, to upper shoulder and head shot. He was still smiling or perhaps laughing. He'd act more freely without clothing. Could he be playful, she wondered? Did he tell goofy jokes? She hoped he didn't tease. No, she'd seen him interact with the guests today. He was far too sensitive to take the chance that a tease might not be taken right. Or did he simply enjoy what others had, what they were, without contributing? No, he liked to be in control, so he'd bring ways to have fun. Perhaps he'd do something humorous, perhaps he'd have interesting thoughts.

Sally had hardly been conscious of taking the exit from the freeway. Afterwards she couldn't even remember making the turn onto the boulevard that took her to the street where her apartment was located. Only when she pulled out of the sun into the covered parking space did she realize she'd dreamed her way home. She decided to put the line of thought away for the time being, tagging it with 'for further consideration.'

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Coffee! Help! Must...have...coffee!" Maxine Valera appeared at the break room doorway clutching the frame as if to hold herself up. "Oh! there's some left!" She made an exaggerated stumble into the room, her hand dramatically stretched towards the coffee pot. "Blessed coffee!"

Calleigh, curled up in the corner of the couch, looked up from her conversation with Natalia. "What's the matter, Maxine?" Knowing Valera's flare for theatrics, she wasn't overly concerned with her friend's entrance.

Pouring and then drinking half the tepid liquid from her cup and turning to pour the rest of the pot into it, the dark haired girl gasped out a nervous laugh. "I've been stuck doing DNA on six different rush-must-have info-now cases since ten this morning! No time for a break! No caffeine fix for hours! Coffee!"

The two CSI detectives on the couch giggled at their pal's relationship with the dark brew.

Ryan looked up from the laptop he was working on at one of the tables. "Oh, good! You're the last to hit the coffeepot on Friday evening, so you get to clean it out. I was afraid I was going to have to do it again."

"You mean I can't make more?" Valera looked like she'd just found her goldfish, floating with his pale belly up, in his bowl.

Both of the other two women in the room shook their heads. Calleigh chided, "Valera, you mean you've never been last at the coffeepot on a Friday?"

Valera shook her head and made a face. Silently, she darted her dark eyes back and forth as if looking for an excuse that would get her out of the chore. Not finding one, she let her shoulders slump and ducked her head down. "Shoot! I'm so busy!" She sighed out loud and peeked over at Calleigh to see if her distress had any effect. Seeing it didn't, she took the pot and put it into the sink.

"Here you are." Delko said cheerfully as he entered the room. He went up to where Valera was standing and looked over her shoulder. "Don't tell me you already had coffee!"

Natalia leaned over the back of the couch and stretched. "Not enough apparently," she said through a yawn. "She was just complaining that she couldn't make more."

A slow, gleaming grin spread across the heavily shadowed jaw. "Well, good! Then my trip to the coffee shop for a large of their darkest, richest brew wasn't wasted?" He lifted a brown paper sack he was carrying. "I had them grind and make it special for you."

Calleigh glowed as she smirked at the couple. She'd thought the two might be involved; this just proved it. A man going out on a special trip for coffee at the end of a long week was a sure sign. She glanced over at Natalia and saw the same appraisal on her face. Good, so she wasn't the only one discovering this just now. '_Hmm_,' she thought. 'Then _Nat and Eric were truly over and going on their separate emotional ways_.' The two had worked together on the radium case all this week and yet hadn't talked of personal lives? '_Yeah, that was a sure sign it was over between them_.' Thinking of which, Calleigh asked Natalia, "What's the status on your jug man? I understand he got a public defender?"

"Yes, he did. He went in for arraignment late this afternoon and was let out on his own recognizance. If he looked any more pitiful in court than when we saw him, I'd be surprised if the judge not only let him go but didn't give him money to live on. What do you think the sentence will be?"

Delko watched Valera walk quickly out of the room, slurping from the large cup she carried in both hands. "The victims' families are sure going to want some justice."

"He's no stranger to incarceration," chipped in Ryan

Natalia couldn't help but continue to play the good guy on Nate's behalf. "But, he didn't have any idea of what those jugs would do. I know that 'ignorance is no excuse' but he's punishing himself plenty already. I've never seen a man so devastated."

Delko reassured his former lover. "Natalia, we don't get a say in it beyond what we put into our reports. We can slant some, when it comes to what happened when we spoke to him, how he answered, whether he was peaceable at the arrest, but that's all."

Calleigh spoke up, "Yeah, we catch 'em, the legal system cooks 'em."

Ryan stopped writing a moment. "I sure wouldn't want to be the judge on this. Imagine trying to balance a purely innocent effort to make a living and the deaths of several people as a result."

Calleigh folded her arms over the back of the couch and laid her head on them. "That's why I'm glad I do what I do. Finding evidence and analyzing it is so much easier than deciding on the level of guilt or the proper punishment."

Ryan asked, "How far are they going to throw the key on your guy, Cal?"

Making a face, Calleigh said, "Probably not far enough. For anyone to be punished, they have to be aware of the depth of their crime. As functional as Donnelly is, he's showing no notion, right now, of the wrong he did."

Natalia copying Calleigh's resting position, included a yawn as she inquired, "You know why he did it?"

"He thought his aging Daddy had been put down like his old dog. He remembered how his dog had needed help just to eliminate in the last few weeks, how his mother had complained. He just figured that's why the dog had been put down; he'd become a bother. He took the nursing job because he'd thought old folks would be easy to care for. When he was called on to actually work, to care for these people, he figured he'd just do what had been done to his Daddy."

"Completely sociopathic," Ryan pronounced somberly.

"Well," Calleigh's head bobbed up and down as she spoke with her chin resting on her arms. "I don't know what his problem is, I just know he probably will never be cured, probably will spend the rest of his life in a full security prison mental ward."

Natalia called out, "Hey Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"What's the weather like outside? I haven't been out since I came in this morning."

"It's nice out."

"I hope it continues that way this weekend. I've got a nephew's birthday coming up. It's going to be a clown party in my sister's backyard."

Ryan slapped the file in front of him closed and said in a disgusted tone. "Well, I'm going to waste half of whatever kind of day it is coming back here to finish these reports. I'm fried, right now. I'm putting these away and heading out!"

Everyone reacted to the comment as if suddenly realizing they might have choice about staying around, talking about work.

Calleigh tried to sound bright as she said, "I'm going to stop off at Clancy's. Anyone care to join me for a beer?"

Eric walked close to the now standing blonde and, accidentally, on-purpose, bumped into her. "Sure, why not? You buy the first round and I'll buy the next."

Calleigh, knowing she'd been challenged, quickly followed the now fast retreating Eric. "Yeah, where have I heard that before?"

Natalia called out as she rose, "I'll go see who all wants to join us." Before she left, however, she turned to Ryan who was still assembling the files he'd been working on. "You need help getting those into the locker?"

Ryan almost refused. Thinking better of it, he divided his neat stack into two. "Sure, I'd like that, Natalia. Thanks."

Just before turning from the main hall of the lab to go to the centrally located evidence locker, Natalia saw Calleigh at the other end. Her friend's hair has cascading brightly over her shoulder as she leaned head towards her upraised hand. Obviously, Calleigh had given up on her pursuit of Eric and was making a call, probably to Frank. Calleigh had shyly told Valera and her about this budding interest. Neither she nor Valera had quite believed their ears. Of all possible pairings in the department, this was the least likely. Even as tall as Natalia was, she couldn't imagine being with the gigantic Frank at all. It wasn't just the difference in sizes between Calleigh and him either; there were vast differences of personality, of work style, of temperament on all counts.

Natalia almost made a comment to Ryan and then thought better of it. Rumors had brought her huge amounts of trouble before. She'd survived the furor, but just barely. She didn't know if Cal wanted this kept secret but it didn't matter. Wolfe had eyes and could see quite well in spite of rumors to the contrary. (There was that word again.) So, no doubt he could put two and two together if he cared.

As she allowed Ryan to take the files from her and place them on a shelf in the wire screened cage-like locker, her mind hit on another pairing she'd almost missed! Eric and Maxine? Valera had said she'd gone to the Gala last Saturday with Delko; the one she'd missed (sort of on purpose), and gotten gently chewed out for. She's just figured it had been a convenience thing, both living within shouting distance of each other. But that move of Delko's, up behind Valera's back like that sure meant something. Then he'd gone out and brought coffee? He was a sweet guy, but not to that extent, not for just friends! Wow! How cool for Valera!

"That's a cat-ate-the-canary smile if I ever saw one," Ryan commented as he locked the gate to the cage and then tested the security with a firm rattle. "What's up?"

She wondered if Ryan had noted what had gone on in the break room. Her mouth practically watered at the idea of discussing this. Instead, she answered, "Oh, I haven't bought my nephew a gift yet and I just thought of exactly the right thing. He's going to love it."

"Uh-huh. That's good." Ryan looked like he didn't entirely buy into her story but also had nothing on which to base a denial. "Well, thanks for the help, Boa Vista. Will you be at Clancy's?"

"Yup! That I will. I'm going to see if Samantha wants to come. I'll see you there."

"What about Valera? You going to ask her, too?"

Okay, so he didn't know about those two. "Uh, yeah, I will." She'd lay odds that Eric had gone straight to the DNA lab to entice her to leave with him. Well, she'd stop by, in case Ryan was watching.

Ryan turned to go and then stopped and swung back, his hand to his forehead, thumb and forefinger massaging above his eyebrows. "Oh, you know what? I think I noticed Eric heading for the DNA lab. I bet he told her already. And I'm going to make it a point to ask Samantha… I, uh, kinda like her." He smiled slyly. "I'll see you at Clancy's, okay?"

Natalia watched Ryan's back as he practically swaggered down the hallway. Her hands had balled into fists and risen to her waist. '_He knew all along! He was just testing me_!' She felt the same tender frustration she had often felt towards her sisters when they'd teased her. It was a satisfying sort of feeling. Families only teased other members of the family because they cared. She'd still have to be careful of Ryan's defensive shell but he had definitely softened, of late. To reveal to her that he liked someone was a really good sign.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Calleigh Duquesne had always had a thing for men of large stature. She had no idea where it came from. Her father certainly wasn't a big man, at least not in height. Her mother's people weren't particularly big either.

She'd found this out about herself back when she used to watch old television reruns of a cowboy program called 'Cheyenne'. It starred a handsome, slow talking man, Clint Walker, who was six feet, six inches tall. As a teenager, though something of a tomboy, she found she went all melty inside at the sight of this huge man. He was built so that even the biggest horse under him looked small. His black hair and clear blue eyes, chiseled jaw and lean build had also sent her little heart into all sorts of flutters.

The problem was, she was sure that if people knew about her weakness, they'd think she believed she wanted the protection of a large man because she was so small and pretty and, therefore, frail. So, she kept this relish of hers very secret. On the outside, as she matured, she seemed like any other Southern Steel Magnolia; beautiful, charming and tough as nails. Even so, only her parents weren't surprised that she graduated from the police academy with top honors, including in hand to hand combat.

Not that she blocked men out of her life just because they weren't large. After all, Jake Berkeley was certainly built along her own compact lines. It was just that big men held a particular fascination for her. In fact, she'd always had an eye for Frank Tripp, but things between her and him never seemed to gel until now. When they'd first met, several years ago on a juvenile gang case, he was married. When he'd gotten divorced the first time, she was involved with another man and hadn't thought about him since then. She wasn't really even thinking of Frank in that way this time when she'd begged him to take her to the Follies. She'd just wanted a way to get there without putting the population of Miami at risk by driving with that outfit she'd bought. The man she was supposed to go with was someone she'd just met and it looked like nothing was ever going to happen with that, anyway. Then, that night at the Follies, while Frank was impressing her with his dance moves, she suddenly realized he was free and she was currently unattached, and well, he sure did look good in that jacket and yellow tie.

Then, in his truck in front of her place, they had briefly discussed why they hadn't gotten together before. He'd tried pulling the old, "Lady, I was always attracted to you, but thought you were way out of my league," routine but she shut him up on that one. It was enough to know that he was interested in her now. Still, it had taken them five dates after the charity affair to be convinced that there was really something to explore between them.

Last evening after a make out session worthy of the most randy of teenagers, they decided that perhaps they might as well quit kidding themselves. Unfortunately, they'd decided this at about two in the morning, after a very long day at work. They'd had a late evening dinner, unwound by listening to the other talk about what they'd done that day, and gone for a walk in the unusually brisk evening air. Letting Frank take the lead this time, Calleigh had left herself open to whenever he might decide the time was right to kiss her. Previously, she'd been the aggressor. They were walking through a small park when he led her under a tree and leaned her against the smooth bark. The light from a post, down a ways, in back of her, illuminated his sweetly smiling face as he leaned down. He'd cupped his hands against her face. She felt wonderfully engulfed by this man and gave in to the powerful surge of desire that rose up in her. Reaching under his jacket, she put her hands to reach up his broad back to his shoulder blades. She wanted to press herself against him, into him.

She could feel him responding, reaching around, and bringing her body closer to his. Their kisses belied their declaration of having eaten their fill at dinner. Their mouths locked and kissed and chewed hungrily. Their tongues entwined and prodded and dueled. Finally, after several minutes, they parted, both leaning against the tree, gasping for breath and giggling.

"Gawd Calleigh, what you do to me."

"Me? You started it this time."

"Ha! Then you caught up and passed me!"

Calleigh turned and threw herself against Frank. "Passed you? No way will I ever pass you again, big man. Climb all over you, I may, but pass? Naw! Don't think so."

"Oh? Yeah? Climb all over me? Just try it, sister." He gave her a hug.

Calleigh looked up at him. He seemed so tall! As a kid, she'd scaled every tree for miles around their house for the pure joy of it. No wonder she liked tall men. "I'd like to try, mister."

Frank looked evenly at her and said quietly, "I think I'd like that." He leaned down and eagerly kissed her again.

Before she knew what she was saying, she asked, "What are you doing tomorrow?" They both had the next couple of days off.

"Spending time with you, I hope." He continued to kiss her face and her neck, run his hand down her backside as far down her legs as he could reach. He no longer resisted the urge to cup her fanny cheeks and pull her to him.

Almost gasping now in response to his touch, Calleigh continued, "You bet, partner. At my place."

Talking around his kisses, Frank answered, "Sounds good. When?"

"How about noon? Would that be too early?" Her voice was muffled as she nuzzled his neck.

"Want me to bring anything?" he inhaled, trying to maintain some control while her lips worked around under his chin and to the other side of his neck.

"Yeah. An overnight kit and a change of clothes."

That got his attention. With a look of happy curiosity, he stared into her face. "Why, missy girl, you have designs on me, I do declare."

Raising an eyebrow she smiled crookedly as she said in her most southern of accents, 'My dear sir, you have no idea how many designs I have on you."

Which was all very true. Last night, she'd hardly been able to sleep in spite of the lateness of the hour she'd finally gotten to bed.

And now, the next morning, late, she speed-dialed his number, eager to hear his voice again. "How did you sleep?"

They agreed they hadn't slept well, both being a little excited about today.

"Are you ready to come on over?" She asked

"Open your front door, girl. I've been here for an hour."

Hardly believing her ears, she opened her door to see his strides eating up the sidewalk toward her. He had a paper bag hugged with one arm and a change of clothing slung over his shoulder. Giggling, she closed her phone and put it onto the small table by the front door. "Frank! I haven't even gotten dressed yet," she called out to him. Suddenly she realized people in the other bungalow apartments might have heard her. She made a silent "Sorry!" look at him.

She never did know if he'd even heard her. As he came in, Frank recklessly threw the bag at the couch and dropped the clothes carelessly on the floor, and took Calleigh into his arms. She felt her feet leave the ground as he raised her up, his eagerness rising against her thigh. Holding her in one arm he used his other hand to hold the back of her head as he kissed her with a singular passion that thrilled her to the core.

When he carefully lowered her to the ground, making sure she had her footing and gently wrapped his arms around her, he said, "I'm so nervous. You'd think I'd never done this before."

Speaking with her head laying against his chest, Calleigh said with confidence, "I don't really care if you've done this before or not. It's what you and I are doing now that counts."

It was as if she felt him smile as he softly rested his chin on her head.

He asked, "And what, little missy, are we going to do now?"

"Just you hide and watch, tall man."

Taking him by his hand, she led him the few steps, through the door to her bedroom. Without further ado, Calleigh turned and twined her arms around Frank's neck and standing on her tiptoes, she whispered, "I hope you had some breakfast, because it's going to be a while before we have lunch."

She was glad Frank had no snappy comeback. She didn't feel like playing at cute patter any more. She wanted to make love.

Apparently, so did Frank. He leaned down and in one motion undid the ties on her robe and swept it from her shoulders. He stepped back and couldn't help but gasp, "Oh jeez!"

A couple of years ago, on a whim, Calleigh had gone to a plastic surgeon wondering what she might do to enhance her breasts. As professional as the doctor had been, as he opened the examining gown to take a look, his eyes had widened and a smile had played across his face. "You don't need anything, Ms. Duquesne. These," he'd said, "are about as beautiful a pair as I've ever seen." Frank had the same look on his face now.

She smiled briefly, accepting that Frank approved. A split second later, she was busily working at the button at the top of his jeans. A quick learner, seeing what was being done, he raised his shirt over his head. At the same time, he was scuffing his feet out of the loosely tied sneakers he wore. Two seconds later, they were in each other's arms again, skin to skin. Being lifted up again, Calleigh felt Frank's manhood rising in between her legs.

There were several ways this scenario could have gone. Some tall men would have encouraged Calleigh onto their rod by pulling her legs up to wrap around them. They'd have penetrated her, and taken their joy swiftly then and there, standing, holding her against them. Or, they would have unceremoniously lowered her onto the bed, thrown themselves against her, and had their fun with her that way. Frank took an alternative and simply lowered her to the floor as he had previously. Even at full lust, as he was now, he was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

"Frank, would you do me a favor?"

Completely involved in gazing into her eyes and down to her breasts, he, no doubt, didn't even realize he'd answered, "Sure."

"Would you lie down on the bed? On your back?"

Coming to, realizing what she had just said, his eyes roamed quickly over the room. Seeing nothing he could identify as tying in with the situation, smiling uncertainly, he answered again, "Sure." He did as she'd requested.

The reason Calleigh had made this request was because she wanted to look at Frank as a whole. Standing in front of him, she would have had to move her head up to his face and then down to his chest and groin. She wanted to look at the whole man, altogether. She wanted a visual feel of all of him at once. Perhaps that came from the days of watching tall men on the TV screen, being able to see all of them, getting turned on by them. Besides, she loved the image of the whole naked body of a man, especially prone.

She had also had a great curiosity in this past week about his size. Although the fact that he was large enough for her to feel with clothes on when they were kissing, she still couldn't determine the length or breadth. She hadn't wanted to explore until they were both sure of the path of the relationship. Now, like looking at a gift that she knew she was going to receive, she wanted to take in the details of it. To her great delight, it wasn't as massive as he was. It was thick, not too long and, oh my, uncircumcised.

Of course, she knew that she was also on view to him, that he could see her nipples hardening as she looked, could see the slight shift of her legs as her own body reacted. As men do when naked, especially when confronted with a sight as arousing as Calleigh, one hand wandered to his penis, encouraging its growth.

Before he could do very much of that though, Calleigh crawled onto the bed to lay herself against him and kissed his lips. Taking that as a signal, his hands rose to touch her, to explore, to pull her close.

After a few moments, Frank announced, "Now it's your turn sister, lay back." But he didn't stand back and take in the view. Instead, he laid kisses gently from her lips, down her neck and to her breasts. He scooted himself down so his feet extended over the end of the bed, so that his head hung directly over her chest. There, he paused, took his time. He leaned on one elbow and while his other hand cupped over one breast, he kissed the other. She felt his tongue flick over her bullet hard nipple while his thumb played with the nipple of the other. Oh, yes, he knew what he was doing, that was certain. She lay back and enjoyed the delicious feelings that shot directly from her nipples down to her swelling clitoris.

From the sounds coming from deep in his throat, Frank was getting pleasure from doing it as well. He shifted, moving his head to the other breast as his hand slid down her rib cage and explored the inward curve of her waist, the flare of her hip. His movements became more swift when he pulled himself up to kiss her lips, his free hand running from breast to waist to under her hips. Suddenly, he threw himself back beside her, gasping.

Calleigh giggled and turned onto him, kissing him as he'd done to her, from his lips, down past his neck and down to his hairless chest. Here she 'discovered' his nipples with her lips, played her hand across the breadth of his shoulders and down to his ample waist and to the spread of his stomach. Not stopping there, as her hand played slowly down a faint line of hair from his belly button to his pubic area, she lifted her head. First looking into his eyes, she turned her gaze downward. She then sat up.

Although she was primarily a butt woman, had admired many in her day, she also enjoyed the nude front, especially when the man was in full glory. She found it a very enjoyable sight indeed. More, she liked to play with it. She liked to feel the tactile sensations on her fingers, the suede soft texture of the covering over the rigid pole. Frank was definitely hard. By now, the head, swelled, wet, and shiny, from out of the sheath in it's one eyed redness. This was in contrast to the darkened flat color of the supporting pedestal of flesh.

As one hand clasped around the rod, her other gently cupped the sac underneath. She gently squeezed the two lobes and allowed her other thumb to rub over the petal soft sensitive head. Frank, watching her every move, inhaled quickly at the sensation. She could tell he almost wanted to ask her to be careful, figured she knew what she was doing, and held his peace.

Why, she wondered, did men always think that women knew exactly what they were doing when playing with a man? How could she when every man was different, each encounter was different? But then, she did know that men were basically very easy to please when it came to sex. That it was easy to seem to know what she was doing.

Only once had her mother talked to her about sexual matters beyond simple laws of procreation. Even then, it had been short and sweet. "Take your time and enjoy yourself," was all she'd said.

When Calleigh had tried to inquire further, saying she had no idea of what to do, her wise mamma had shushed her and only added, "Just play with his toys and keep half an eye on his face. You'll see him smile when you're doing it right." And sure enough, she'd found that doing almost anything at all to a man brought looks of utter bliss

Frank was no exception, but then, he had delightful toys to play with. She'd found, quite some time ago, that, for the most part, men's penises had little variance in shape and not much in size. The differences between men lay, she'd discovered, in the shape and size and attachment of their scrotal sacs. Some were definitely by-lobed and others gave the appearance of being single. Some lay closely to the body and others hung pendulously and then there was every condition in between. The color varied from dark brown (or coffee colored to black in the case of black men) to nearly pink. It was also usually different in color from its partner, though not usually markedly so.

But none of that is what enthralled Calleigh. The fascination in the male equipment lay in to whom it was attached; how it affected him, how she could transmit her feelings to the man through these channels. And, in the last few days, her feelings for Frank had developed into more than simple affection. Right at the moment, she wasn't sure she could define the feelings. They certainly weren't love at this point. They were more like a deep concern for his well-being, a desire to satisfy him.

From the look on his face, she was certainly doing that. From what she was feeling with her hands, he was very much into what she was doing. The lobes of the sac were tightening and the skin around his shaft was taking on an almost shiny appearance as it was stretched around the burgeoning growth.

Interrupting her thoughts, his voice thickly called to her, "C'm'ere, you."

Leaving her task, she leaned onto his chest and whispered, "What?"

He grabbed her into his arms and kissed her so deep she was sure he was discovering not only that she'd had a tonsillectomy, but from the close examination of the scar, exactly how long ago it had been done.

Within moments, both of them knew it was time to get down to business. Calleigh almost laughed at the ensuing struggle. She was ready to lie onto her back and he was trying to pull her up on top of him.

When he realized what was happening, Frank stopped. His green eyes staring into her blue-greens. Holding her still he said, "Look, little love, let's get real. If I get on top of you, you'll be a week digging yourself out of the mattress. Wouldn't you just love telling Horatio why you couldn't come to work for a few days?"

Calleigh relaxed, giggling. "I think he knows about us Frank."

Laying back and pulling her close, Frank began kissing her neck and chest. "Uh-huh," he mumbled.

Calleigh allowed herself to be cradled. She wanted to see what Frank had in mind for making love. It turned out though, not to be that easy.

Suddenly, he grumbled, "Woman! For being such a tiny thing, you sure are heavy!"

"I'm just trying to find out what you want Frank." Calleigh kissed him and wiggled her body against his frame.

Frank became serious. "What I want right now is to fuck you. I want you to get on top of me, slide on, and hang on for dear life. Please, Cal, before I have the party without you?"

It was all she needed to hear. Kissing him again, Calleigh easily swung a leg up and over Frank's generous middle. Straddling him, it didn't take much for her to slide his dick into her dripping warmth.

Both of them sighed simultaneously, both feeling as if a missing part of them had been brought home.

"Damn-"

"Oh, Frank-"

Both said simultaneously, "-that feels so good!"

Calleigh collapsed down onto Frank's chest, her long hair flooding his shoulder and neck.

Frank had flexed his knees a little and holding on to her, he pushed, driving himself deeper into her recesses, several times.

To respond, Calleigh pushed herself up onto her hands and rose up a little onto her knees and let her rump fall. At the same time, she arched her back slightly to tilt her hips. Frank may have thought it was for his pleasure that she did this. Actually, she'd done it to feel him differently. She'd found long ago that her most private parts were super-sensual and that she could deliciously feel every part of anything put in there. Even though it made wearing tampons somewhat uncomfortable for her, on the other hand, sex was a fantastic trip unto itself. When she moved around a man's penis, though pleasurable for him, the delight was all hers.

This part, for both, was but briefly lived. In short order, both were on the path to climax, driving themselves onto and into the other with a single minded goal.

Ordinarily, Calleigh need more time to rise to that most incredible of all sensations. This time, though, she'd been aroused for several days. Loving was not what she needed now as much as release.

Still, it was Frank who came first. Calleigh, however, wasn't far behind. Unfortunately, this wasn't so good for Frank. When Calleigh came, she did so with magnificent contractions that sent feedback to her pleasure centers which responded with signals for more contractions and so on, back and forth. This was good for a man if he didn't climax first because the contractions were usually what sent him over the edge to his own universe of pleasurable fireworks. When it happened afterwards, if he was still in her, it was downright painful for the man. Even after the initial explosion was over and she collapsed onto Franks's chest, nearly senseless, the contractions continued. Because of this, Frank got more sensations to his penis than he could handle.

"Ouch! Ooch! Oh, jeez!" Frank reached over Calleigh's thighs with both hands and pulled her shapely butt up so that his now, ultra sensitive member could slide out.

Calleigh lay still, her face buried into his neck, and let life take its course around her for another few minutes. Finally, she sat up and sleepily smiled at the drowsing Frank. Groaning in happy contentment, she flopped over onto her back beside him.

This brought Frank awake. He rolled on to his side and stared at her profile a moment. "I take it, you came? I mean, I hope to God it was you coming and not just getting ready to."

"Yeah, I did. Why?"

"Do you always have that kind of a reaction when you climax?"

Realizing there was more to this than just idle after-glow chatter, Calleigh turned and asked, "Why? Is something wrong, Frank?"

Frank almost said something and then paused. He looked away and then gave her a second look and shook his head. "Not wrong, Cal. I'm just going to have to be really careful with you, is all. If you come like that every time, I'm going to make damned sure you come first from now on. I think those super contractions of yours would feel damn good before I pop off but as it was, just now, I felt like my most delicate parts were being mashed by a steam roller!"

Turning onto her side to face her lover, Calleigh reached up to caress the side of Frank's face. "Aw, sweetheart, I'm sorry." She kissed him.

Frank's face was full of honest admiration. "Maybe I said that wrong; I didn't mean it to be a criticism. It's just that, you are really something else. Except for the ending, I just had a great time." He reached over to lay his hand on her waist. "I'm too often guilty of just having sex for my own self. You know the type. The man who expects the woman to catch up, if she can. Sort of adds to the fun, and that's all. I can see though, that with you, that can be dangerous to my physical well being."

Calleigh blinked in that deliberate way she had when she was processing information.

Frank continued, as if he was discovering something new and sorting it out. "You know, my daddy always told me to take care of the woman's needs first. I never thought, until now, he was talking about sex."

Calleigh stroked Frank's arm wordlessly.

Frank shifted himself closer to the prone blonde and continued. "So, lesson learned, I think. Do you mind if we try the exercise again to see if I can get it right?" He leaned over and kissed her as he caressed a breast.

In response, Calleigh turned into the big man's waiting arms and wrapped a leg around his hip. "Oh, I think we can manage that."

NOT The End

For now, esteemed fans, this tale is finished, but as you can see, there are several loose ends. Like the program, in time, there will be new crimes for the CSIs to solve and relationships will develop. What do you think? Should the Forensic Lab have it's own Forensic Psychologist? Will the match between Delko and Valera work any better than when he was with Boa Vista? Is Ryan really interested in Samantha?


End file.
